


Nothing to Regret

by WritingEmi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dorian Pavus Feels, Dragon Age Quest: Here Lies the Abyss, First Time, From Sex to Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rejection, Sexual Content, Unrequited, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-03-31 22:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13984962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEmi/pseuds/WritingEmi
Summary: Dorian, still reeling from rejection by the Inquisitor, tries to find out about the truth of what happened to his friends in Redcliffe. The Iron Bull, at least, is a good distraction through the long period of waiting and Dorian believes he now knows better than to let emotions get involved with it all.





	1. Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian should know better by now.

There was something particularly humiliating and painful to Dorian’s walk out of the Inquisitor’s quarters. Most of the buckles on his outfit were still undone, his boots were unlaced, and the half sleeve that was normally strapped onto the lower half of his left arm was clutched in his hand instead. Skyhold’s great hall was blissfully quiet and empty in the early morning with grey light filtering through the stained glass windows. Despite the peace, Dorian made sure to keep up his posture straight and his steps at a normal walking pace, even as his cheeks burned and his eyes smarted.

It was not the first time he snuck out of someone’s room in the time between night and daybreak, not by a long shot, but Dorian had been foolish. The flush of mortification was of his own creation and he had no one to blame but himself. The way his chest tightened with each step, the clench of his jaw, and dizzying sensation of disappointment was entirely his fault. He only hoped that there was no one around to stand witness to the display.

Of course, the door to rotunda suddenly burst open before Dorian barely made it past Josephine’s office. A disheveled and giggling Chantry sister rushed out the door, not even sparing Dorian a glance as she exited the great hall, but her partner lumbering behind of her did. The Iron Bull was shrugging back on his worn leather harness as he entered the great hall and his sharp, single eye didn’t miss a thing.

A large grin spread over Bull’s features at the sight of Dorian. “Hey, big guy! Looks like you had a good night!”

Dorian’s heart sank as he stopped to be polite, because he knew that the Bull might pursue him if he ignored him completely. Bull’s clear blue eye narrowed just a fraction as it lingered on Dorian, taking in Dorian’s undoubtedly watery and red eyes, the tightness of his expression, and the flush now crawling down his face to his neck.

“You should see the other guy,” Dorian said coyly, his voice a perfect mixture of tease and casualness, despite the tension that overcame his body and the thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am in desperate need of some sleep as I was rather busy all night.”

“Everything ok, Dorian?” The question came quieter and gentler than Dorian would have thought possible from the Iron Bull, the great brute managed to make three words heartbreakingly soft.

The sting in Dorian’s eyes only increased even as his voice remained strong. “Exceedingly so.”

Dorian turned as Bull opened his mouth to say something else and walked briskly away to make his way up to his room, not hearing whatever it was the Iron Bull had to say. At that moment, Dorian knew he could not weather the harshness of a rebuke or the kindness of pity. 

His steps became more hurried in after running into Bull and he didn’t stop until he made it to the sweet sanctuary of his room. Dorian closed the door behind him with more force than necessary and turned the lock with a resolute click. Once securely inside, Dorian kicked off his boots and peeled off his clothes, letting them drop onto the floor in a pool of polished metal, silk, and leather, and approached the full length mirror sitting in the corner of the room.

His tiny room boasted only small comforts, a narrow bed with a pile of blankets and a nightstand next to it, a small writing desk and chair, a short chest of drawers with a wash basin on top, and a tall wardrobe that housed his robes, armor, and weapons. The mirror was a bit of luxury in Dorian’s otherwise utilitarian space, something that Mahanon found long abandoned in a storage room when they first arrived in Skyhold. It was a pretty item with its free standing frame was made of an intricately carved dark wood, looking vaguely Dalish in design, which somehow survived years of neglect. Mahanon had worked on the mirror in his scant free time to bring out its original shine.

Josephine delivered the mirror to Dorian’s room with only the comment that Mahanon thought he might like to have it and she left Dorian with a sly and knowing smile. Of course he liked it. A full length mirror to admire the new robes and armor that were made for him at the request of the Inquisitor was more than enough to satisfy Dorian’s ample vanity. But it also had the added value that Mahanon had gone through the effort of restoring it and thought to give it to Dorian. The consideration and the effort flattered Dorian more than the actual gift itself.

Now Dorian looked at the mirror, observing the sharp Tevinter features of his face, his body well-toned from years of training, and his expanse of flawless dark skin, unmarred with the exception of vivid bite marks and bruises left by fingertips. He was the product of generations of good breeding, shaping his very image of perfected traits within the Pavus family. Strong magic, a perfect body, and an empty heart.

Dorian wondered if he saw in the mirror’s reflection what Mahanon saw in him. A beautiful man and little else.

Grabbing one of the blankets off of his bed, Dorian threw it over the mirror and blocking out its accusing reflection. He then crawled into bed, burrowing under the covers, and closed his damp eyes to try to catch some sleep, which skillfully remained out of his grasp.

The early morning hours crept by and bled into the late morning, creeping closer to the noon hour. Despite his lack of sleep and his undeniable shame, Dorian knew that there were tasks needing his attention. There was a stack of correspondence sitting on Dorian’s desk still demanding to be opened, research that needed to be done, and a list of Tevinter names to review that Josephine’s people put together to see if Dorian thought they could be potential allies. Life in Skyhold did not stop because Dorian Pavus was exhausted.

A fresh change of clothes, a splash of cold water on his face, and the careful application of makeup using his dusty hand mirror, made Dorian look almost acceptable as he stepped outside to begin the day, which was already half over. If anyone paid close attention to him, one would probably assume that he was hungover and that suited Dorian just fine. Looking down at the Chantry sisters, Templars, and Inquisition soldiers milling around in the gardens below his room, Dorian suppressed a sigh. If anyone paid close attention to him, it would be for all the wrong reasons.

His work in the library called to him and Dorian went straight to it, not detouring to the great hall or the tavern for lunch. Food was the last thing on his mind and the temptation to lose himself in research was too great. Leliana had him looking into old Tevinter writings, seeing if there was any mention of the elven artifacts that the Inquisition recovered from the Venatori. It wasn't the most thrilling research, but it was enough to keep Dorian occupied for the day.

The writings proved to be interesting to Dorian, but they yielded few results and he made slow progress, probably because he lifted his head every time he heard the patter of footsteps coming up the stairs. He paused whenever he heard someone coming, craning his neck from over the top of his book only to see a messenger come by or, in one case, Josephine making her way up to see Leliana.

It was almost dinner time when Dorian heard Mahanon’s voice rising up from the first floor, talking to Solas about old ruins. The impulsive urge to go over to the railing and watch them washed over Dorian, but he remained in his chair, not daring to move, not even to turn a page lest Mahanon might hear. Before he would go to the railing and spy on Mahanon, who would inevitably spot him and a smile would curl on his lips before excusing himself from Solas’s company, making his way upstairs to Dorian’s nook. Dorian did no such thing this time, but Mahanon came up to Dorian’s spot in the library anyway.

There was no preamble, no acknowledgement of the night before, and Mahanon launched into speaking to Dorian with the same ease he always did. Dorian felt none of the easiness Mahanon displayed, but while Mahanon always wore his heart on his sleeve, Dorian had long perfected his mask. He smirked and teased as he always did, even as the words rang hollow in his ears and his smiles almost pained him.

Then Mahanon asked about slavery in Tevinter.

“Back home, it’s … how is it? Slaves are everywhere. You don’t question it. I’m not even certain many slaves do,” the words tumbled out of Dorian’s mouth and he regretted them instantly at Mahanon’s hardened eyes and borderline peevish response.

Dorian wasn’t sure how he made it through the conversation, wasn’t entirely aware of what he was saying, only that his mouth moved and Mahanon didn’t seem totally disgusted with him afterwards. The Inquisitor only smiled at the end and excused himself to go to dinner, then asking, in an afterthought, if Dorian wanted to join him.

That time Dorian knew the appropriate answer. “I’ll have to decline your offer this time, as you can see our Sister Nightingale has me rather busy and I would prefer to stay on her good side.”

There was no insisting that Dorian take a break nor was there any trying to wheedle a promise for a drink or meal later, and Mahanon’s smile appeared to relax a little bit at Dorian’s refusal. The Inquisitor said his goodbyes and Dorian sank back down into his chair. He sat there in silence for several minutes, his stomach churned as bitter acid coated his throat, and his heart dropped as he reflected upon Mahanon’s questions and his own answers. Then Dorian got back up, gathered his things, and fled for the refuge of his room. He could at least work in peace and without interruption there, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

But once Dorian was in his room, he heeded the overpowering desire to abandon his work and to go back to bed. The soft, clean cotton sheets, the feather stuffed pillow, and the layers of thick blankets at least provided a physical comfort, even if his heart could not be so easily soothed. His limbs felt like dead weight, anchoring him down onto the mattress and Dorian barely moved from that spot for the next two days.

-

“It is a relief that your tryst with the Inquisitor is now over,” Vivienne told Dorian with cool satisfaction. 

Vivienne reclined back in her seat, moving in a position that flattered her long legs as she balanced her cup of black Orlesian tea in her slender hand. Dorian hadn’t uttered the Inquisitor’s name since he sat down with Vivienne for tea on her balcony, but he wasn’t surprised by the rumors and the apparent ease in which Vivienne obtained her information.

While he often enjoyed Vivienne’s snide comments, he loathed being there at the moment, but Dorian knew that his standing appointment of tea with Vivienne was not one he should dismiss without a second thought. As much as he hated to admit it, Vivienne held a surprising amount of sway with the Templars, who occupied all corners of Skyhold, as she was what they saw as a model mage and Dorian was aware that he was exactly the kind of mage they would have long made Tranquil. He knew it would not do him much good to end up on her bad side just because he fancied lying in bed for another day as she and the Templars had the ability to make his life at Skyhold very difficult.

“Before you get missive with me, darling, do understand that it is for the benefit of the very Inquisition itself. Inquisitor Lavellan has a hard enough time being taken seriously as a Dalish elf, but to have a Tevinter mage on his arm will only serve to heighten rumors and to diminish his credibility,” Vivienne explained as if no one had ever said it to Dorian before, as if he never thought of it himself.

Putting down the little cucumber sandwich that he had no intention on finishing, Dorian replied evenly, “I had no expectations that the Inquisitor would want to carry on with me.” 

Not a single sound came from Vivienne’s lips, but her gaze told of her disbelief.

Dorian quickly rallied under her stern condemnation, it was nothing to what he experienced in the past and he had bluffed himself out of much more dangerous situations. With a feigned loftiness, Dorian explained, “I offered the Inquisitor a moment of pleasure and respite without the promise or obligation of an attachment, which he accepted. Now he is free to go about his business as he pleases. Truly, that man is so pulled in so many directions, he needed a little distraction which I was happy to provide and no one can blame him for that.”

Vivienne pressed her lips together and her sharp eyes searched Dorian’s face before saying with mild approval, “I’m glad to hear it. He will have better luck with Cassandra at his side and she has been warming up considerably to our dear Inquisitor as of late. She will do him a lot of good, despite her persistent scowling and lack of political ambition, Cassandra’s name will forever be connected to Divine Justinia and she is still thought of as a hero by many for saving Divine Beatrice. They will make a most charming couple.”

Dorian didn’t flinch at the mention of Cassandra, didn’t shift and hardly even blinked, though he was sure that it was Vivienne’s intention to elicit a reaction from him. But that didn’t mean Vivienne’s strike didn’t hit its target, that Dorian’s heart was unaffected by the mention of the Inquisitor and Cassandra together. Even as he and Mahanon struck up a flirtatious relationship, he could see very much the same kind of banter developing between Mahanon and Cassandra, albeit at a much slower pace. 

He had ignored it to the best of his ability and ignored that Cassandra was everything he was not. That Cassandra, as devout, principled, respected, and admired as she was, was an ideal companion for the Dalish Inquisitor. That Dorian, as an unapologetic Tevinter mage, born to a noble and slave holding family, was everything the people around him despised and should be the last person that the Inquisitor associated with.

“I hope someone has the good sense to instruct them both in how to dance before the ball at the Winter Palace,” Dorian said lightly. “And Maker’s breath, can you or Josephine find someone to teach Cassandra how to smile for five minutes?”

A breathy chuckle escaped from Vivienne, the laugh that she gave when she was truly diverted. “We can certainly teach them to dance, darling, but Cassandra smile? There is no hope.”

“Then we are all doomed,” he sighed dramatically as if his chest didn’t feel like a giant knot that ached. “The Orlesian court will throw us out before the first dance, none of us will have enough time to get drunk, and Corypheus will destroy Orlais.”

“Oh, do have more faith in our Inquisitor and his charming companion. I believe we will make it to the second dance before being thrown out,” Vivienne replied in a rare jest. 

After he survived the rest of tea with Vivienne, Dorian retreated back to his room and felt the tension in his body unwind once the door was closed behind him. Inside those four walls, Dorian was safe from scrutiny and from those who might cause him harm, both intentionally and unknowingly. Grabbing the letters off of his writing desk, Dorian attended to his long neglected task of attending to his correspondence to occupy his time in privacy. Lounging on his bed with his letters at his side, Dorian worked through the small pile with the thoroughness it deserved. 

One was a regretful letter from Maevaris Tilani, confirming that she also heard the rumors of the demise of Felix and Alexius at the hands of the Venatori, but she had no further information to provide. Another was a short and curt message from his mother, reflecting upon his impudence of leaving Redcliffe without hearing his father out. That letter quickly became ash. The last letter in the pile made Dorian pause and his heart seized at the name of a man he hadn’t heard from for a long time, Caius Abrexis.

Caius with his dark hair, light green eyes, and fine sun kissed skin, was more than Dorian could resist. He was a rare mix of beauty, intelligence, and sincere kindness, and Dorian was immediately drawn to him, nearly as much as he had been drawn to Rilienus. Their lives and bodies became entangled for a brief, but intense, time. They might have carried on for a while, if their association did not end so terribly abruptly.

Dorian could still recall the wild look on Caius’s face as Dorian was jerked from his embrace by his father’s men after they stormed the room. The startled cry from Caius as Dorian was taken away still echoed in Dorian’s ears. His last glimpse of Caius’s face was through the doorway as Dorian was dragged past the bodies of Abrexis estate guards littering the grand hallway, their blood settling into sticky pools against pristine white marble floors, reminding him of the consequences of embarrassing his family.

A faint tremor overtook Dorian’s fingers as he tore open the wax seal of the letter.

Later, after reading the letter multiple times, Dorian left the relative safety of his room in search of food and drink at the tavern. His body was crying out for the former and his heart and mind were in desperate want of the latter. The letter had shaken Dorian, but he didn’t know how to act upon it, if anything could be done, and a good strong drink seemed like the sort of remedy he needed for the emotions it stirred in him.

The tavern wasn’t usually where Dorian sought out his substance as he preferred the fare served in great hall, but he knew certain people he wished to avoid also preferred to eat there, so he settled for the Herald’s Rest. Roasted druffalo with questionable brown gravy and boiled root vegetables was being served up in the tavern, a hearty and bland meal that inspired little appetite within him. Dorian managed to eat less than half of his dinner before focusing on the bottle of cheap Kirkwall whiskey he spent his precious and limited coin on. Cabot had the rare thoughtfulness to supply him with a glass, so he didn’t have to drink the fiery swill straight from the bottle. 

He was nearly halfway through it when Bull took the seat next to Dorian, his leather clad shoulder brushing up against Dorian’s bare one.

“Looks like you’re doing some serious drinking there, Dorian.” The Iron Bull looked over at Dorian’s barely picked over meal and Dorian was good enough to push it towards the hulking mercenary, who dug into it without question or thanks.

“I'm pondering over a serious question,” Dorian answered with a gravity he felt in every fiber of his being, “and Fereldan beer would not do for such deep thinking.”

“Oh? Something I can help out with?” Bull asked playfully, grinning at Dorian’s red face and glassy eyes.

“Perhaps.” Dorian considered it, his mind circling back to the letter sitting in his room, now tucked into a book to be hidden out of sight, but not out of mind. “You are a man of relative wisdom, despite all appearances.”

“Aw, are you getting sweet on me, big guy?”

Dorian rolled his eyes, which only served to make the room spin and he was forced to grip the table to prevent himself from tumbling off of his chair like a drunkard. “Would you like to help or not?”

“Ok, ok, hit me.”

“Tell me, the Iron Bull,” Dorian’s words ran together, whiskey thick on his tongue and hitting him harder than he anticipated, “what would you do? Put yourself at risk to possibly find out the truth? Or stay safe, but remain in the dark?”

“And what would I be finding out?” Bull asked, his playful tone was gone and his eye fixed on Dorian’s face.

“I don’t have specifics,” Dorian said lightly, swaying gently in his seat and closed his eyes briefly in thought. He forced himself to open them again as the darkness began to pull him under into unconsciousness. “It’s just a little mental exercise. Let us say it’s something of personal importance, not holes in the sky importance.”

Bull leaned back in his chair, it creaked under the strain of his weight, and then took a long drink straight from Dorian’s bottle of whiskey, earning him a token protest. “It was my job to know things and seriously, I hate not knowing. As long as the potential answers were worth the risk, I pursued them. Fuck, I pursued them even when I knew they probably wouldn’t be worth it. But what kinds of risks are you talking about? Like you might use the wrong fork at a dinner party? Or are we talking about a life or death situation?”

“Wrong fork at a dinner party? Did you not hear Vivienne tell Varric before? That is a life or death situation.” Dorian’s head lulled to the side as he took in first part of Bull’s answer. He hardly noticed that he was slumping forward until Bull grasped his arms, pulling him upright and to his feet.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed, big guy.”

“But my whiskey,” the statement came out as a downright whine.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe for you,” Bull cajoled, looping Dorian’s arm over the impossible expanse of his own shoulders.

As Dorian’s head rolled to rest on Bull’s chest, his alcohol riddled brain helpfully observed that Bull smelled of leather, metal, horn balm, and nothing at all like Mahanon. He closed his eyes for a second, taking in a deep breath and shutting out the solid wall of grey that took up most of his sight. 

“Next time, don’t drink Kirkwall whiskey on an empty stomach. Are you going to help me out at all?” Bull huffed in gentle exasperation as he half dragged Dorian out of the tavern.

“M’ feet don’t work,” Dorian mumbled, the words were clumsy on his tongue and his eyes were still firmly closed.

A soft chuckle shook Bull’s torso and he hefted Dorian’s limp body further up, taking on more of his weight. “Ok, don’t worry, I’ve got you. I’ll make sure you’re tucked into bed and everything, maybe you’ll even get a goodnight kiss if you’re good.”

Dorian just nodded his head, let himself be carried back up to his room and didn’t open his eyes again until the following morning.

As he woke, Dorian found himself tucked soundly in his bed and with very little memory of how he ended up there. His robes were stripped off of his body and hung neatly over the back of the chair at the writing desk, leaving him in his soft leggings and undershirt, and the boots he wore the night before were lined up against the wall. A glass of water and a pitcher sat on the nightstand along with a small vial of a royal elfroot potion. The blanket that was previously draped over the floor length mirror was back on the bed, keeping Dorian extra warm from the cracked open window, letting cool and refreshing air into the room.

Sitting up, all Dorian felt was regret, nausea, and a raging headache. The mirror in the corner of the room revealed the state he was in with his tousled hair, mustache in disarray, and bags under bloodshot eyes. The man in the reflection had the look of someone without restraint or dignity.

The temptation to stay in bed for the rest of the day, for the rest of the week, was strong, but Dorian managed to get up. Once he did, he threw the blanket back over the floor length mirror, obscuring his view of the bedraggled man in it.

He took the extra time to make himself presentable and was almost satisfied with the results once he was done. There was no hiding his drawn expression, but skillful application of makeup just made it look like he had a bad night of sleep and not almost an entire bottle of whiskey. He drank the royal elfroot potion and washed it down with a glass of water, which relieved his twisting stomach and his pounding head. It was already past lunchtime by the time he swung opened his door and dared to rejoin the functioning world once again.

Outside of Dorian’s room, everything felt absurdly calm, or at least what passed for calm in Skyhold. There were no assassination attempts, no grand parade of foreign dignitaries visiting, no fights between the horde of Templars and the few Inquisition mages, and even Leliana’s birds squawked just a little quieter. Dorian would have appreciated at least some rain to reflect his mood, but sunlight stubbornly streamed warmly through the window near his chair.

Dorian tried to work in peace in the library as he was resolved to finish the tasks assigned to him and to put the letter Caius sent to him out of mind. Considering his current circumstances, there was nothing to be done about the letter, Dorian decided with regret. He was better off focusing all of his efforts on aiding the Inquisition.

His efforts were for naught though as his thoughts wandered and his peevish mood made him easily irritated at the simplest things. The steps of the messengers running by were too heavy, Solas was taking too much time studying the book titles in the bookcase near Dorian’s table, and he hated the song Leliana was softly singing right above him on the third floor. Finally, the glare of the cheerful sun became too much for Dorian and he gathered up his books and notes, determined to finish his work in the privacy of his room. He was almost there when he ran into Mahanon, who was just stepping away from the door to Dorian’s room.

“Dorian,” Mahanon called out, a bright grin on his face like everything was ok between them, like he was untouched by everything passed between them. “I haven’t seen you in a while, is everything alright?”

“I was confined to my room for a number of days, I’m afraid, though it was truly best for everyone,” Dorian answered smoothly and without a moment of hesitation. “I came down with a dreadful cold, too many late nights reading next to a drafty window I suspect. All this fresh and clean mountain air hardly agrees with me.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Mahanon frowned slightly, lines between his eyebrows formed as he really looked at Dorian. “You still look tired.”

“Are you suggesting that I look anything short of perfection?” Dorian asked in mock offense, though his heart stuttered cruelly. “But I appreciate your concern and put yourself at ease that I’m currently quite well. Now, was there something I could help you with?”

“I was hoping that you’d agree to go to the Storm Coast with me in a couple of days, I’m bringing along the Bull and Blackwall. I’m going to try to find signs of the Wardens there, especially since Hawke talked about corruption within the ranks. But if you are unwell, I can easily ask Vivienne.”

“Perish the thought. Why bring along a subpar Circle mage when you can have me? I am never too unwell to wander the countryside, killing random strangers with you, Inquisitor Lavellan.”

The Inquisitor blinked at the formal use of his title and clan name, but he let it go after heartbeat or two passed by. “Great! Get some rest, Dorian, I anticipate we’ll be out there for a while.”

They parted ways and Dorian sealed himself away in his room, dropping his books and notes in a heap on his desk. Flopping down on the bed, he closed his eyes. Helping the Inquisition was what he wanted as he had to forcefully remind himself. He did not seek out the Inquisitor for companionship or affection. The only thing that mattered was helping the Inquisitor to end the chaos and to stop the Elder One. 

Asking anything else from the Inquisitor was just pure selfishness on Dorian’s part.


	2. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian remembers what he owes to his past and the Iron Bull is a giant flirt.

The taste of salt water was stuck in the back of Dorian’s throat and its smell clung to his robes, making his stomach rebel as they broke for lunch along a cliff overlooking the sea. He nibbled on a piece of bread, but couldn’t even try the cheese, giving it to the Iron Bull instead, who happily took the offering and made the offending piece of food disappear in only two bites.

For a man who was cast out by his people the last time he was at the Storm Coast, Iron Bull seemed remarkably undisturbed by it, though Dorian didn’t know if it was an act or not. For his part, Dorian remembered the loud boom of the dreadnaught exploding, the headiness of smoke from the burning remains, and Bull staring mournfully out at the water as Gatt ranted angrily at him. But Dorian also remembered the sheer relief he felt at the sight of Krem’s handsome face and the sound of his smooth Tevinter accented voice as he reported back to his Chief.

It was a mystery to Dorian what was going through the Iron Bull’s head at the moment, other than the hungry look he gave the small bag of dried fruit and spiced nuts that Dorian had. The wind picked up, bringing in a fresh wave of salt air, and Dorian promptly deposited the bag of fruit and nuts into Bull’s eager hand.

“It still gets me that you’re unnerved by blood, but a little sea air and you’re instantly green,” Blackwall observed as he took a bite of his bread ration and looked out at the crashing waves at the bottom of a dizzyingly sheer drop.

Honestly, Dorian hated the smell of blood. Hated the way the copper coated his tongue, the way it instantly filled a small space with its stench. When he could smell blood, Dorian made sure not to close his eyes for too long to prevent old memories from creeping up on him, memories that left wounds which were not even close to being healed.

Lavellan shifted where he sat on a fallen tree, he knew the whole sordid tale and his dark eyes flickered over to Dorian, always brimming with concern that now hurt more than helped.

“One gets used to it in Tevinter,” Dorian answered flippantly. “If you can’t stomach the smell of blood, then you never get invited to any of the good parties. Besides, it’s not like you’re fainting like a maiden whenever we kill someone, which is fortunate since we do it so often.”

Dorian actually got Blackwall to chuckle, the laugh eased the harsh lines of his face and his perpetually tense body relaxed for a moment. “True, but how can you get sick from the smell of the sea?” Blackwall made a point of inhaling deeply.

Dorian shrugged and handed Bull the rest of his bread. “I suppose it’s like how you don’t care for proper hygiene. It’s a great mystery that we’ll never have an answer to. Now, if we’re finished with this lovely picnic, shall we continue hunting for Grey Warden trinkets?”

There were traces of the Grey Wardens along the coast and from their writings they seemed to be searching for Hawke’s Warden friend, but there was nothing that supported that Corypheus was behind the scenes. Along the way Lavellan found a couple of old Grey Warden artifacts that put Blackwall into a wistful, but pleased, mood. And of course, they ran into Darkspawn, wolves, and one bear that seemed very determined to challenge the Iron Bull.

It made for a long day, but Lavellan seemed to think that they made excellent progress by the time they broke for camp, which was cheerfully situated close to the beach, much to Dorian’s chagrin.

It was in the camp that Dorian felt almost sick with anxiety that had nothing to do with the salt water lapping at the beach. There were inns littered along the way to the Storm Coast and it was the first night since they left Skyhold that they were forced to use the tents and share quarters. Normally everyone doubled up in a tent and Dorian, ever since his heart softened towards Lavellan, shared a tent with the Inquisitor. But now, as Lavellan, Blackwall, and Dorian sat around the campfire, he was unsure.

Dorian picked at his dinner as Lavellan and Blackwall speculated over the supposed corruption in the ranks of the Wardens and Iron Bull was speaking to the requisition officer stationed at the camp.

“Blackwall, want to share a tent with me tonight?” Lavellan addressed the Warden. “I have more questions about the Wardens.”

“I don’t know if I can be of much help, but sure,” Blackwall nodded. “It’ll be a nice break from bunking with Bull, he takes up most of the space and I might be half deaf from his snoring.”

The decision stung, but it was also a great relief. After an appropriate amount of time, Dorian gave up on his dinner, excused himself to bed, and gathered his things to take into the tent that Bull setup earlier in the evening. Dorian put down his bedroll, stripped out of the outer layers of his robes and found himself too weary to wash and go through his usual bedtime regiment. Instead, he crawled onto the bedroll and threw his blanket over his body, ready to sleep off the day’s aches and pains. Like usual, the blanket was inadequate to fend off the damp cold of the Storm Coast and his feet were chilled despite his extra thick socks.

Dorian was almost asleep when Iron Bull came into the tent and made a small noise of surprise.

“Didn’t think you’d be my tent buddy,” Iron Bull commented as he got his own bedroll ready. “Though I can’t say I’m going to miss Blackwall, you don’t snore half as loud as he does.”

“I don’t snore,” Dorian mumbled the protest into his pillow with none of his usual heat. He rolled over onto his stomach, not bothering to lift his head or look towards Bull. He hitched the blanket up further to half cover his head until he couldn’t see Bull and could only hear his rustling.

The rustling stopped. “You ok there, Dorian?”

“Trying to sleep, but someone keeps talking to me,” he complained, the blanket crept further over his head.

A large hand pressed against Dorian’s back, its warmth seeping through the wool covering. “Is everything ok between you and the boss?”

“Just peachy.”

Bull didn’t reply and the hand on Dorian’s back left. Dorian was nearly asleep again when another blanket was draped over his form.

“It’s a warm night,” Bull said quietly, somewhere off to the side, “but you look cold.”

Dorian hummed his thanks and finally drifted into unconsciousness, a little less cold than he was before.

The next couple of days were an odd shift for Dorian, nothing wrong or bad, but he suddenly became more aware of the Iron Bull than usual. They often poked at each other, sniping at each other’s different cultures and background, but Bull took it to a different level as they carried on through the hills of the Storm Coast, sealed Darkspawn tunnels, and killed lingering Venatori on the shores.

It started as one Venatori camp burned away nicely under Dorian’s fire and bits of his idiot countrymen were dashed across the rocks and sand. Bull wiped away the spatter of blood across his face and gave Dorian a large grin, showing off his teeth.

“Nice work with the magic back there, Dorian. You’re pretty good at blowing guys up.”

“It’s significantly more impressive than hitting them with a sharp piece of metal,” Dorian retorted, but smiled at the compliment, finding Bull’s banter a little kinder than normal.

“Hey, whoa, let’s not get crazy,” but the grin didn’t disappear and only widened at Dorian’s snort of laughter.

Then the banter took another odd turn as they approached a lone house on a cliff, the call of the dead tugging disturbingly on Dorian’s necromancy as they got closer to it.

“That staff’s in pretty good shape, Dorian,” Bull started. “Do you spend a lot of time polishing it?”

Dorian groaned as Blackwall visibly shuddered and Lavellan laughed under his breath.

It continued as they headed towards a cave with thick webs coating the entrance to it, surely to be crawling with Darkspawn, giant spiders, and Maker only knew what else.

“Better hike up your skirt, mage boy,” Bull said as they made their way over large, slippery rocks towards the cave entrance, the spray of seawater at their backs.

Dorian’s jaw dropped. “I’m not wearing a skirt.”

Bull looked at him from the corner of his eye, the faint hints of a smirk on his lips. “You trip on that bustling whatever, don’t come crying to me.”

When they finished slaughtering another group of Venatori, Dorian had to duck away from Bull’s battleaxe as the Reaver swung it far too close for his liking.

“Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” Dorian snapped.

“Dirty!” Bull’s voice curled with enough innuendo that Blackwall nearly tripped and Lavellan spat out the elfroot potion he was drinking. 

“Vishante kaffas! I meant your weapon!” Dorian corrected quickly, already reaching into his robes to pull out an extra potion for the Inquisitor. 

It went on like that for the entirety of their journey through the Storm Coast and Dorian silently cursed his ridiculousness for being concerned about the Iron Bull and his feelings about returning to where the dreadnaught sank. Obviously, the Iron Bull had no thoughts in his brain beyond conquest and his next lay, which Bull made that terribly clear when he described loudly and in detail what he wanted to do to Dorian in front of both the Inquisitor and Blackwall. Dorian could have died from mortification, though honestly, in his continuous vexation and his snipes back at Bull, Dorian had little time to concern himself with Lavellan.

It wasn’t until their stay at the first inn they stopped at on their way back to Skyhold did Dorian have time to stew. The inn wasn’t anything special, but after a week of sleeping in a tent and having his eardrums constantly shaken by Iron Bull’s rumbling snores, it was a blessed sanctuary. But as the leisure helped to unwind the knots along Dorian’s shoulders, it gave his thoughts ample time to run amok.

Sitting at the small tavern on the first floor of the inn, Dorian took the time to drink and to turn over every recent interaction with the Inquisitor in his mind. Nothing was amiss, Dorian concluded, Lavellan treated him with the same high respect and gentle kindness he gave Dorian ever since he came running up to Haven’s gates with the Venatori hot on his heels. The flirting, which was struck up once they were settled in Skyhold, was absent, but that was not a surprise and any stabs in his chest over it were solely his fault.

His brooding was interrupted as the Iron Bull invited himself to Dorian’s table, Fereldan beer sloshing out of his large mug and onto Dorian’s arm as he dropped down into the seat neat to Dorian.

“Watch that!” Dorian snapped as he grabbed a napkin to dab the beer out of his sleeve.

“Eh, I just got that little detachable sleeve of yours. I’ll be happy to help you take it off,” Iron Bull leaned towards him, his fingers brushing Dorian’s exposed shoulder, but withdrew his hand when Dorian couldn’t stop his flinch. The tease and flirtation left Bull’s voice as he asked softly, “Does this bother you?”

His own flinch had surprised Dorian, as did the underlying concern in Bull’s words. Shaking his head and taking a drink from his glass of wine, something red, blended, and terribly cheap, Dorian replied, “Not as such. Not more than you usually bother me with your stench, poor manners, and awful pants.”

“Ah, good,” Bull’s expression relaxed and his hand returned to the bare skin of Dorian’s shoulder, a comfortable heat radiating from his touch. “I don’t like it when someone isn’t into, it’s no fun that way and I try not be that kind of asshole.”

“Who says that I’m into it?” It came off peevish and snooty, but something small and dangerous warmed in the pit of his stomach.

The corner of Bull’s mouth tugged upward and his calloused fingers moved from Dorian’s shoulder to the back of his neck. They dug into his flesh like Bull was ready to snap his neck or pull him in for a kiss. “I’m just saying, Dorian. You have this picture of the Qunari in your mind. Like you see us as this forbidden, terrible thing, and you’re inclined to do the forbidden …”

The observation stung and Lavellan’s tattooed face, the hard lines of his body, the faint scar along his left hip, filled Dorian’s brain. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“All I’m saying is, you ever want to explore that, my door’s always open.”

“You are impossible! This is …” Dorian growled in frustration as his sentence trailed off. He downed the rest of his wine and shrugged off Iron Bull’s hand, standing in indignation.

But Bull was more encouraged than deterred. “Good! I like that energy. Stoke those fires, big guy!”

Throwing up his hands with another growl, Dorian spun on his heel and marched upstairs to his room, leaving Bull’s grinning face behind. The hour was far too early to sleep and without his usual selection of books or access to a library, Dorian was confronted with the option of brooding and trying to ignore Bull’s words without the aid of alcohol. The only book available in the little room was a copy of the Chant of Light and there was no way he was cracking that thing open.

Grabbing his copy of _Swords & Shields_ that somehow made it into his bag, Dorian decided it was better than nothing. But once he opened the book, the letter from Caius fluttered out from between the pages and onto the bed. Dorian had placed it in the book, tucking it out of sight into a book he thought he’d never pick up. Now heading back to Skyhold, Dorian realized that he hadn’t really clearly thought about Caius or his letter, especially since he left for the Storm Coast as he was too occupied with killing whatever stood in his way, bickering with the Bull, insulting Blackwall, and trying not to have a complete breakdown in front of the Inquisitor.

A spike of white hot shame shot through Dorian for dismissing the letter so quickly and forgetting what he owed to people whom he loved and cared for long before the Inquisition ever formed.

Caius wrote to Dorian with a simple proposal. He claimed to have information about what happened to Alexius and Felix and all he wanted in exchange was to be introduced to the Inquisitor.

It could very well be a trap, Dorian knew that much and that was why he brushed it off so easily after he read the letter. There seemed to be too little gain for Caius in the arrangement. Caius, with his sharp humor and trusting face, did not aspire to great political heights, not as his father’s third legitimate son. Introductions to important people would not elevate Caius and his family, especially not to someone as controversial in Tevinter as the Herald of Andraste, who was an elf no less. 

And the thought of Caius as an agent of the Venatori did not shock Dorian, not like Alexius’s defection to the cult. Caius was smart, academic, and passionate. They had many lively discussions about improving their homeland, about changes and reform, and about the Imperium’s former glory. Caius, an astute historian, was particularly interested in the Imperium’s former glory, more so than Dorian was ever comfortable with. It was one thing to be impressed with Tevinter’s conquest of ancient Thedas, it was completely another to long for it.

But passion and historical interest did not damn Caius to the ranks of the Venatori. On that same argument, Dorian’s former lover could be interested in seeing history in motion, in being able to tell his children one day that he met the so called Herald of Andraste. Though Caius’s supposed knowledge of Felix and Alexius gave Dorian pause, stilled his hand in writing a reply, kept him suspicious, and allowed him ignore Caius. It could only be a trap, Dorian told himself, something that could not benefit the Inquisition or himself.

Now, Dorian thought he was too hasty in his dismissal. Venatori or not, Caius might know the truth and might be able to lead Dorian to Felix and Alexius’s remains and to tell him about their last moments. Bull said if the potential answers outweighed the risk, that he would pursue it. Knowing what he owed to his former mentor and best friend to put them to rest, knowing the closure it would bring him, Dorian knew he had to take the risk and see if Caius was telling the truth.

His own pursuit of the Inquisitor’s affections blinded Dorian and distracted him from trying to find out what happened to the people he loved so dearly. His letters of inquiries about Alexius and Felix’s demise to his friends and allies back at home dried up as Lavellan continued to pay attention to Dorian. Lavellan flattered Dorian and seemed to admire him as they traded warm looks and teasing touches, and Dorian, acting like a fool, was immediately drawn in. In that sense, Dorian betrayed Alexius and Felix and their memory by allowing himself to become enchanted by the very man who sealed their fates at the hands of the Venatori.

There, in that little inn not far from the Storm Coast, Dorian rededicated himself to finding out what happened to Gereon and Felix Alexius.

His intentions were easily stated, but less easy, as Dorian quickly found out, was putting any plans into motion. Back in Skyhold, Dorian leaned back in the red, plush armchair in his library nook, his book long forgotten on his knee, and the sunlight streaming through the window warming his face. He was too distracted to make much progress in his research and while he was still dedicated to providing the Inquisition with his abilities and knowledge, his own personal matters weighed him down too much. Since returning from the Storm Coast, Caius’s written words occupied more and more of his thoughts.

There was a tangle of complications that Caius’s offer laid out before Dorian. First and foremost was that there was no way Dorian could involve Lavellan and would need to find another way to leverage information from Caius. The second was arranging a meeting and getting there without having the Inquisitor know or having to drag others from the Inquisition along with him. And third was trying to figure out how much Leliana knew and to see if she had any information on Caius, if he was indeed part of the Venatori.

The incident with Ponchard showed Dorian that Leliana was willing to intervene in his affairs when she thought that Lavellan might be interested. The fact that Lavellan didn’t come rushing to Dorian’s side to offer his help told Dorian that Leliana either didn’t know or deemed that Lavellan wouldn’t be interested. It was safer to side with the fact that Leliana did know something and Dorian had to take a deep breath to hold himself together at that implication.

The third problem was easily solved, though it took more than a bit of courage for Dorian get up from his armchair to climb the stairs of the rotunda and enter Leliana’s space. The squawk of birds bouncing off the tall ceilings rapped harshly into Dorian’s head and the feeling of every pair of eyes in the room on him made his skin crawl. Leliana showed no surprise at his approach and there was no warm greeting or cool brush off. Just a business like nod from her seat at a table littered with messages and reports.

Sister Nightingale would not show her hand first, so Dorian knew that he needed to, it was his best play.

As skilled as he was in navigating the treacherous world of Tevinter nobility, it did not arm him against Leliana. He could not match her in a game of wits and could not lie to her without her finding out. Lying would only serve to rouse her suspicions and would make her dig deeper, maybe even drag the Inquisitor into it. So the truth, Dorian decided, was the safer avenue.

“Leliana, I hope I’m not interrupting you sharpening your knives and writing out lists of people to be assassinated, but I have a small matter of personal importance that I wished to speak to you about.”

Leliana motioned to the chair across from her, not questioning why Dorian would be coming to her with a personal matter. It might imply that she knew about Caius’s letter or simply that she was hoping to glean more information off of Dorian, he knew that trust was always in short supply when it came to the Tevinter mage. 

“I have time now.”

The hardwood of the chair made Dorian think of the unpleasant Chantry benches he was forced to sit on as a child, making him shift uncomfortably. Both in physical and mental discomfort, Dorian decided to get straight to the point, “I received a letter from an old acquaintance of mine claiming to have information he really should not to know.” 

“And that is?” Leliana prompted with indifference.

“The fate of Magister Alexius and his son, Felix.”

Something slight flickered across Leliana’s face, something akin to sympathy as she knew of Dorian’s connection and intimacy with House Alexius. Dorian was sure the expression wasn’t done involuntarily, but it made her seem more human and put him more at ease anyway. 

“What does he want for this supposed information?” she asked, caution hardening her words.

“What everyone wants, Sister Nightingale, a grand introduction to Inquisitor Lavellan. It’s all very cliché of him, I’m quite disappointed actually, but he is not a Magister, nor would he gain anything in Tevinter by meeting the Inquisitor. He is a historian and his interest could be purely academic, or something completely different.”

“Of course,” Leliana sighed. “Do you believe your acquaintance to be part of the Venatori?”

“That is what I am trying to find out. I’ve burned my bridges with his family, but your resources might be able to confirm the truthfulness of his letter.” Dorian shifted again in his seat, the chair creaking at the movement. 

Leliana tilted her head, waiting for Dorian to continue.

“I know it is not the best use of Inquisition resources, but there is potential for it to be useful. If my acquaintance is part of the Venatori, then I kill him and then there’s one less dangerous Venatori to worry about. If he is sincere, I might be able to find out more about Alexius’s research into time magic and see what, if anything, that he passed onto the Venatori.”

“Shall I inform the Inquisitor to discuss our options?” Leliana asked, her voice even.

Dorian took a deep breath through his nose, he was sure Leliana noticed. “I was hoping you would keep this matter to yourself, I would rather leave the Inquisitor out of this completely. I’ve already had him kill Venatori for me, Vivienne asked the poor man to find books for her, Blackwall has him searching for Grey Warden baubles, and Cassandra is having him slaughter crazy Templars and mages left and right. I think it would be nice if for once we could use the privy without him holding our hands.”

“I agree,” Leliana nodded with satisfaction. “Unless this becomes deeper than we suspect, we’ll leave Inquisitor Lavellan out of this. He has enough to worry about with the ball at the Winter Palace and following up on Hawke’s lead about the Wardens. Leave me the letter and I’ll have my people look into this.”

Sliding the letter out of where he tucked it into his worn, leather covered spell book that was always strapped to his belt, Dorian gave it to Leliana and said his thanks before leaving as quickly and with as much dignity as possible. The knowledge that Leliana determined this matter something that the Inquisitor shouldn’t be bothered with told Dorian clearly where he stood with Lavellan. It hurt more than he expected.

Dorian scolded himself as he made his way to the tavern for a drink. This was exactly what he wanted, to gain Leliana’s cooperation and to keep Lavellan in the dark about the whole affair. He knew he couldn’t involve Lavallen in another personal matter of his. The Inquisitor had already seen some of the worst aspects of Dorian as Lavellan bore witness to his relationship with his father, the sordid tale of his brush with blood magic, and his desperation and poverty. With that much of himself exposed, Dorian could not bear to have Lavellan see another side of him and to see more of his blemishes.

Upon entering the tavern, Dorian observed the usual early evening crowd of people taking their dinners and drinks, their ambient chatter filling the space as the bard sang her upbeat song about Sera. There was enough people in the tavern where Dorian didn’t stand out and few enough that he was able to snag a corner table, well out of the sight of drinking Templars and anyone else who might keep an eye out for him. That night, Dorian only had enough coin to drink Fereldan beer.

Dorian drank slowly, but an empty stomach meant that he worked up a buzz fairly quickly and his mind wandered in all directions. What to do about Caius, how to get relevant information from his ex-lover if his letter was sincere, if Lavellan was wooing Cassandra at that very moment, and what to do about his stained and damaged armor as his money dwindled as he drank. Dorian’s silent bemoaning was shaken out of him by the deep roar of the Iron Bull’s laughter, making goosebumps rise along his bare skin and causing his thoughts to take a different turn.

The Iron Bull made Dorian a very clear offer. There were no coy looks, no gestures that promised deeper affections, no warm declarations and encouragements. Just a simple offer to explore something dark and forbidden to a Tevinter mage.

His hand gripped his glass of Fereldan beer tightly, the cool condensation wetting his palm and fingers.

Dorian knew exactly what he would get from the Iron Bull. Having his curiosity satisfied and then walking away. It would be a moment to reaffirm to Dorian his desirability, to let the brute admire his features and body, and to bask in praise and pleasure that had nothing to do with the heart.

The Iron Bull’s heavy footsteps were unmistakable as he made his way up the stairs, only pausing long enough on the second floor to wave to Sera, and then up to the attic to the entrance to his room. Dorian finished his beer and followed.

-

Familiar snoring roused Dorian into consciousness and it took a couple seconds of blinking in the darkness for him to remember where he was. Carefully, Dorian sat up in the bed and swung his legs over the edge, wincing at the cold from the open ceiling as the blanket slid away. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, his skin was sticky from sweat, his dried seed tugged against the fine hair on his stomach, and his hole still felt slick with oil.

Dorian’s body ached, but not overly so and not in the way he expected. His jaw was sore, but he had been too busy showing off to care about the fact that the Iron Bull’s cock was proportional to the rest of his mass. His ass was tender, but only from the stretch from Bull’s girth and not because Bull fucked him savagely into the mattress. A series of bites littered his skin, but none drew blood and all were carefully placed, worrying sensitive spots to arouse and not to punish.

Closing his eyes, Dorian took a deep, silent breath. He didn’t intend to fall asleep, he only wanted to rest his eyes for a few minutes, but he obviously drifted off. At least Bull was kind enough to let Dorian sleep and didn’t kick him out immediately, though that wasn’t a shock. The Iron Bull was nicer than what his appearance might suggest.

The snores stopped and a large hand gripped Dorian’s hip, blunt fingernails dug gently into his skin, and lips grazed the spot between his shoulder blades.

“Who said you could leave?” Iron Bull asked, his words warmed Dorian’s skin.

Kisses trailed across his shoulders, making Dorian shiver under Bull’s lips. “Maker, you certainly can’t be up for more.”

“We only went one round,” Bull murmured, a hand reaching between Dorian’s legs and cupping his already hardening penis, “and I didn’t get to suck that pretty cock of yours.”

“Insatiable.”

“I don’t hear your watchword.”

Dorian snorted at the thought of the word Bull gave him in the beginning of the evening, but Bull’s hand on his cock stilled, waiting. It was such a little word, katoh, that conveyed a level of thought and respect that Dorian honestly wasn’t used to with his bed partners. 

Swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat, Dorian replied tartly, “I suppose you didn’t hear it because I didn’t say it.”

Dorian didn’t expect for Bull to immediately slide off the bed and kneel between his legs, jerking his bottom to the edge of the bed and swallowed Dorian’s cock down in one quick motion. Groaning, Dorian flopped down onto the mattress, his back arching at the skilled suction on his length and rolling his hips forward into the wet heat of Bull’s mouth. His eyes widened and a wanton moan escaped his lips as Bull slowly pushed a thick finger passed his entrance and lazily fucked Dorian’s still slick and slacken hole.

Staring up towards the ceiling, Dorian could see the stars dotting the dark, moonless sky through the massive hole in the roof. The chilled night air sinking down into the room did nothing to soothe the burn in Dorian’s body, the building heat that curled in his stomach as his entire being tensed at Bull’s maddeningly slow ministrations. 

A hard dig of his heel into Bull’s shoulder only made the man drag his tongue over Dorian’s cock in an unhurried fashion. Curses earned Dorian a teasing stroke of a fingertip against his prostate, but not much else. It wasn’t until Dorian broke, until pleas started to fall from his mouth, did Bull quicken his pace and allowed Dorian to come down his throat.

After Bull let Dorian’s softening cock fall from his mouth, he grabbed Dorian by the hips and turned him over onto his stomach and tucked Dorian’s knees under his body. Dorian bit back a sigh and buried his face into the blankets as oil was spilled down his ass and dripped onto his thighs. He wasn’t up for another round, but he wasn’t going to spoil Bull’s fun as he had been good enough to get Dorian off first.

Bull rubbed his length between Dorian’s oil slicked cheeks, slowly working himself to hardness, the head catching against the rim of Dorian’s tender hole with each pass. Caught between a small stirring of pleasure, the sting of pain, and exhaustion, Dorian quietly groaned into the thick blankets, waiting with heavy impatience for Bull to enter him again and to finish. Instead, Bull pleasantly surprised him by slipping his erection between Dorian’s oiled thighs and pressed them tightly together. Dorian relaxed as it became apparent that Bull was seeking his release in the warmth and pressure between Dorian’s legs. 

Bull laid a hand on the small of his back and asked, “Is this ok?”

Dorian nodded his consent into the blankets.

“I want to hear it, big guy.”

Letting out a loud sigh, Dorian said overdramatically into the bedding, “Yes, Bull, you may fuck my thighs.”

A kiss on his neck acknowledged Dorian’s declaration and Bull began to thrust. Bull’s slicked and ample cock slid teasingly along Dorian’s overly sensitive balls and limp cock and Dorian did nothing to restrict the sighs and whimpers coming out from his lips. Too tired and spent, Dorian didn’t become aroused, but he found it much more satisfying than being fucked again.

“Damn, you feel good,” Bull growled, his breaths were coming in quick intakes and he leaned over Dorian’s back as his pace quickened. His lips were against the shell of Dorian’s ears as he said, “Your skin’s so soft, I could get off on any part of you. I could hold you down and just rut against you, coming on you again and again until you were filthy and begging me to fuck you.”

Dorian gasped sharply, the image painted in his mind was more appealing than he liked to admit.

“Like the thought of that, don’t you?” Bull chuckled, his warm breath tickled the nape of Dorian’s neck where Bull was busy kissing the exposed flesh there. “Something for us to explore another time,” Bull promised and Dorian could feel Bull’s smile on his skin.

A couple more hard thrusts into the space between Dorian’s legs and Bull came with a loud, rumbling groan, his semen coating the inside of Dorian’s thighs. Bull’s fingers slid into Dorian’s hair, turning his head so he could devour Dorian’s mouth as he just about collapsed on top of Dorian. The air was knocked from Dorian’s lungs at Bull’s bulk covering him and he could hardly breathe as Bull sucked on his tongue as his spent erection shrank against Dorian’s ass. 

A small, pathetic noise escaped from Dorian as Bull finally rolled off of him, something in between a complaint and relief as he missed the warmth, but was glad that Bull’s weight was no longer crushing him. He spied from the corner of his eye the dark outline of Bull maneuvering his way through the room, moving with a practiced ease from navigating the space in the dark. The sound of water being poured from a pitcher into a basin filled Dorian’s ears and soon enough a damp, cool cloth touched the overly heated and sticky skin of Dorian’s upper thigh.

He jerked instinctively and Bull’s hand gently caressed his cheek and made a soft soothing sound.

“Sorry about that,” Bull murmured apologetically, “I’ll be quick.”

Dorian drew in a long breath as Bull swiftly and efficiently wiped him down. Cool trails of evaporating water covered Dorian’s body, cleansing him of sticky and dried body fluids and making Dorian feel a little more dignified than before. It was an odd ritual to see Bull go through, just hours ago the mercenary had easily pinned both of Dorian’s wrists in one hand as he dominated Dorian in bed. Bull reduced Dorian to frantic pleas and nearly tears while Dorian begged for his release as he clenched around Bull’s cock, hoping for something to set him over the edge. But now, in harsh contrast of that denial and control, Bull tenderly cleaned Dorian and whispered sweet words to him, telling Dorian how beautiful he was, how responsive he was, how good he had been.

Dorian didn’t want it. He didn’t want the emptiness of Bull’s words and the false promises of something warmer than what this really was. That was what got Dorian into trouble with Mahanon, he took Mahanon’s flirting seriously and allowed himself to hope that he could have a deeper relationship with the Inquisitor. When he followed Bull upstairs, he wanted Bull’s bluntness and hard cut lines of separating sex from emotions and friendships. But Bull’s ill thought out attempt at kindness backfired and Dorian could not stand it.

Once Bull determined that Dorian was sufficiently clean, he settled back down onto the mattress next to Dorian, his body heat coming off him in waves. He didn’t ask Dorian to leave or stay, but Dorian already came to his own conclusions. As soon as Bull’s breathing evened out into rumbling snores, Dorian silently rolled out of bed. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and his keen memory allowed him to find every piece of clothing scattered on the floor with quick ease. He swiftly dressed with steady fingers, buckling every clasp of his robes and laced up his soft leather boots, despite the hammering of his heart.

The walk back from Bull’s room to his own quarters was filled with little shame and the biting cold of the mountain air snapped Dorian out of the quiet haze he was in, letting him shed off the warm tingle from the aftermath of a satisfying night. While he didn’t care for Bull’s sweet nothings at the end, Dorian felt appreciated and admired in the way he wanted, and was nearly completely satisfied with the encounter. But Dorian was determined not to sleep with Bull again, his curiosity was put to rest and that was all he needed.

The next morning, the gentle rap of a knock upon the door woke Dorian from his sleep. Dorian sighed as he got out of bed, the only people who could want his attention at such an early hour were either a messenger or the Inquisitor, wanting to drag Dorian to some obscure and uncivilized corner of Thedas. 

However, on the other side of the door was a young, red haired maid, holding a tray of ham, fruit, a bowl of honey sweetened oat porridge, and a pot filled with dark coffee. His stomach rumbled in appreciation, even if Dorian often turned his nose up at Fereldan breakfasts. He also hesitated at the sight of the food, but Dorian recognized the maid immediately and was fairly certain that she did not spit in anything. Just the previous month, he taught her how to write out her name in her native language, Nevarran, and ever since then, she was nothing but cordial to him.

“The Iron Bull asked me to bring you some breakfast, my lord,” the young woman explained, her harsh accent softened by the sweetness of her voice and lightened with a small smile on her lips as a light blush obscured the freckles on her cheeks. 

“Pardon?”

Her blush deepened and her smile widened. “He thought you would need this after the night you had with him.”

Dorian cursed Bull’s name as he took the tray and sent the giggling maid away. And Maker help him, Dorian ate every bite of his breakfast.


	3. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian ponders at distractions and the Iron Bull's presumption as matters with the Inquisition move along.

_My Dear Dorian,_

_I am so pleased to hear from you in regards to my proposal. I perfectly understand that the Inquisitor cannot meet with me immediately and that arrangements for a meeting will take some time. I can only imagine the pressure the poor man must be under. You cannot believe what I have recorded about the Inquisitor’s adventures and impressions he’s made upon the people in the Hinterlands. Though perhaps you can, as I hear that you are often at his side._

_However, you must understand my position and I will insist on keeping to the arrangement I proposed. I absolutely cannot make it to Skyhold as you have asked. While you know that I do not care for politics myself, my house will likely suffer for my presence at Skyhold should anyone back in Tevinter hear of it. You must already know of my father’s current precarious position in the Magisterium and I would not risk his position just to satisfy my curiosity, even if it is to preserve the history of these troubled times._

_Please believe me when I say that it brings me no pleasure to hold this information over your head, I know how close you were to Magister Alexius and dear Felix. Knowledge of their fates have left me troubled and feeling most keenly for you. But these are unusual times, Dorian, and I absolutely cannot pass up an introduction to the Inquisitor! You of all people must understand his great importance and my interest in him. How I envy you for being on the cusp of history!_

_I wish you good health and pray most fervently for your safety in your duties with the Inquisition, my dear friend. I eagerly await your favorable reply._

_Yours Always,  
Caius of House Abrexis_

Dorian folded the letter up and slipped it into the spell book strapped to his belt and turned back to his other correspondence. Caius’s response did not shock his, but he was glad that Caius did not expect to meet with the Inquisitor right away. His understanding patience gave Dorian some much needed time to figure out a plan and for Leliana’s people to dig up information on Caius. 

However, with the way things were shaping up after the incident at the ritual tower at the Western Approach and an impending demon army being summoned in Adamant Fortress, Dorian knew that all side trips and projects were cut off until the immediate threat was vanquished. Leliana’s people were busy finding weaknesses and information about their enemies and their stronghold, and his own request was set aside for the time being.

In the meantime, Dorian was working with his own contacts, the few trusted allies he had back in Tevinter. He didn’t have the vast network of spies at his disposal that Leliana did, but he knew people who could easily seek out the answers to his questions. Papers and pens were scattered along his little writing desk in his room, he didn’t risk writing about Felix and Alexius in the library to keep anyone from asking too many questions.

_Dear Maevaris,_

_I hope you enjoyed the Templars the Inquisition's very handsome commander sent to you to help quell the dissent following your motion on the Magisterium floor. Southern Templars are far more dangerous than our little decorative soldiers in the north, but they are just as easy on the eye, don’t you agree? Which is fortunate, considering that they’re stomping all about this fortress._

_As you may have predicted, I am writing to you to ask for a favor. You were kind enough to try to find out about Felix and Alexius, and I hope you will indulge me again for the sake of their memory. I have long severed any ties I had with the Abrexis family, but you may be able to make inquiries on my behalf. I am curious as to the whereabouts of Caius Abrexis and his current associations._

_You may remember him as a bright, scholarly sort of young man, but he has contacted me with a curious proposition that has cast suspicion in his direction. I hope a word in the right direction may reveal his motives and if he is as true as he proclaims to be, then I may discover the truth about Alexius and Felix’s end. If not, then I shall kill one more idiot from our homeland._

_I thank you for your consideration and wish you luck in your continued endeavors to bring sense to the Magisterium._

_Your Friend,  
Dorian_

He watched as the black ink dried upon the parchment, heavy with the knowledge that success on Maevaris’s part was slim. She was not well acquainted with the Abrexis family and if Caius had truly turned to the Venatori, there was little reason for anyone to reveal that information to her. But she was his best hope beyond Leliana and by far the most trusted.

Once the ink dried, Dorian folded up the letter, wrote the directions on them, and pressed a red wax seal with a stamp bearing the Pavus family crest. Gathering a few other papers that needed attention, Dorian stepped out of his room for the first time that day, the sun was already high in the sky and Skyhold was in full activity. He took his letter to one of Josephine’s people, a kindly dwarven young lady who would make sure that Dorian’s letter actually went out with other correspondence and not into a fireplace. 

As he slid the letter into the dwarf’s hand when he caught her in the great hall, Dorian made a mental note to buy her a tankard of ale the next time he saw her in the tavern. He had little coin to spare, but Dorian knew that he needed to keep up any goodwill he fostered with Skyhold’s staff.

Walking towards Josephine’s office, Dorian hoped to just deliver a listing of noble houses in Tevinter that might prove to be reliable allies that Josephine requested, but what he walked into told him that he would not leave so quickly. In the middle of the office were Josephine and Lavellan, dancing hand in hand with the fireplace crackling merrily, shedding a warm glow of golden light upon them. There was no music to accompany them other than the low hum of Josephine’s voice, imitating a lively Orlesian waltz.

They made a striking pair. Lavellan was dressed in his dark formal wear, high leather boots, and his wild sand colored hair was tamed for once and looking stunning against his tanned skin. The lovely Lady Montilyet in his arms completed the wholesome picture and she continued to look splendid in her usual deep purples and shimmering golds. The sight was like sugar crushed between teeth, the bleed of pure and cloying sweetness on the senses, something not entirely unpleasant while at the same time made the stomach turn. 

At least that was the scene until Josephine cursed in Antivan as Lavellan heavy booted foot trampled her toes in her delicate slipper and she was forced to take a couple hobbling steps back, grasping the back of a chair to balance herself.

“Perhaps that’s enough practice for today, Inquisitor,” Josephine said warily, but she perked up when she saw Dorian hovering in the doorway. “Lord Pavus! May I persuade you to help demonstrate to the Inquisitor on how to do a simple Orlesian waltz?”

“I thought we were preparing the march upon Adamant Fortress? Or have we canceled on the demons in favor of dance lessons?” Dorian asked archly, a charming smile was strained on his face as he briskly crossed the office and purposefully placed the list on Josephine’s desk.

“Josephine thought I needed a break, though I do admit that I understand troop movements better than dances. Perhaps you can show me, your shoes look sturdier than Josephine’s,” Lavellan gave a wide, sheepish smile and Dorian’s chest squeezed in a gentle ache.

“What’s this about dancing?” The door leading to the hall towards the war room opened and the Iron Bull stepped through, laughter rumbling in his chest as Josephine balanced on one foot and rubbed at her poor, abused toes.

“Lord Pavus was just about to show Inquisitor Lavellan how to dance,” Josephine answered quickly with both good cheer and relief.

All eyes in the room were fixed upon Dorian, a situation that usually was not wholly uncomfortable or uncommon for him, but there was a distinct unease that turned his stomach. Dorian found himself in the last place he wanted to be, which was in the same room with two men he most recently slept with and their attention focused on him. One who immediately dismissed Dorian and the other who made it clear that his door was still open. Shamefully, Dorian took Bull up on his open door policy more than time, despite swearing off the Iron Bull again each time.

“Get me ten silk scarves and I’ll show you a dance that will shock the court,” Dorian replied offhandedly, though he moved towards the center of the room. He held his hand out to Josephine and was relieved when she took it. “I only know how to lead,” Dorian explained as he turned Josephine in front of the Inquisitor, “and think of the weakness it would expose the Inquisition to if the Empress saw the Inquisitor following in a dance! It would be an unspeakable scandal that the Inquisition would never recover from. Now watch my feet, Inquisitor Lavellan.”

“Please do pay attention, Inquisitor,” Josephine urged as she danced with Dorian. She began to hum the waltz again, her voice was low and warm, a little off key, but Dorian found it calming to his racing heart.

The steps of the dance were ingrained in Dorian’s brain and it was easy to get lost in the simple repetitive movements. His mother hired instructors to teach Dorian to dance at a young age, instructors who would rap Dorian’s knuckles until they bruised and bled for each stumble, every toe stepped on. As harsh as those lessons were, Dorian could not argue with the results as he was a fantastic and enthusiastic dancer.

“Mythal have mercy, Dorian,” Lavellan breathed as Dorian dramatically dipped Josephine at the end of the dance, “I’m never going to be able to do that.”

“All in good time, Inquisitor,” Dorian replied easily. “Though perhaps do hurry it up a bit, we cannot have you embarrassing us at the Winter Palace or all of Thedas is doomed. No pressure at all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work that needs to be completed for Sister Leliana.”

He bowed gracefully to his dance partner and to Lavellan. As he rose to his full height and spun on his heel to leave, Dorian was startled to see the Iron Bull still in the office, leaning against the wall and watching Dorian’s movements with a hooded eye.

Dorian politely gave the Bull a shallow bow before swiftly fleeing the room, the hard rap of his boots against the stone floor ringing too loudly in his wake.

A couple of days later, Dorian entertained Cullen out in the gardens with a game of chess. He enjoyed his chess games with Cullen, he reveled in the audacity of flirting with a former Templar and rejoiced in every flustered reaction he pulled from Cullen, distracting him from the board, though usually it did little to help Dorian win. But the Commander was not into the game that day, he didn’t respond to Dorian’s teasing as he usually did, and his eyes were blank as Dorian blatantly placed a previously captured piece back into play.

“My dear Commander, am I boring you today?” Dorian asked in a mixture of mockery and real concern for the Commander.

Cullen startled, straightening up from his hunch posture and confusion overtook his lovely amber eyes. “Huh?” 

“You have been staring at the board for several minutes. I’m afraid that you’re not entertained by my sparkling company.”

“Oh! No, not at all. I mean, I’m enjoying your company, Dorian, I always do.”

“Truly, Commander?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I suspect that you have other things heavily weighing upon your mind, especially with an encroaching demon army to be dealt with. Care to talk about your worries?”

Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. “I’ve just been consumed with preparing our forces for the assault on Adamant Fortress, we’ll be marching out soon enough. I was about to cancel on you today so I could concentrate on it, but Leliana and Josephine actually kicked me out of the war room and told me to get some fresh air.”

“Leliana and Josephine are wise women, fresh air and better scenery will certainly do you some good, and I am the best scenery you can find in Skyhold,” Dorian flashed his most brilliant smile. “I urge you not to worry about it too much, you’ll have me at your side to protect you and your soldiers. It’ll be an inspiring sight, a former Templar fighting side by side with a dashing Tevinter mage to bring down a demon army.”

Lavellan had already carefully chosen the party that would accompany him into Adamant and Dorian didn’t know how he felt about not being included. There was a tough battle waiting for them in Adamant and the fights would probably be even worse around the Inquisitor, which Dorian was fine with avoiding. But the thought of his barriers, fire, and necromancy being unable to protect Lavellan threw Dorian off and left him questioning the wisdom of Lavellan taking Vivienne, even though Vivienne’s defensive magic was stronger than Dorian’s. He didn’t bring it up to the Inquisitor though and forced himself to be satisfied with cutting a path for Lavellan and his chosen companions.

“You’ll actually be fighting with Bull and the Chargers,” Cullen corrected him offhandedly, his amber eyes finally focused on the board.

Dorian blinked and his spine straightened. “Pardon me?”

“Bull asked for you to join his forces for the attack,” Cullen explained, his gaze swung up to Dorian’s surprised expression. “It makes sense, they only have a couple of mages and only one who has any significant training. You would be a good addition to their group and I think it speaks highly of your skills that the Iron Bull asked for you specifically. I actually think he means to flatter you.” An insufferable small smirk curled on Cullen’s lips, stretching the scar on his mouth.

Flattery was the last thing Dorian felt at that moment as he felt his cheeks warm up and something akin to outrage twisted up in him. The presumption that Bull took in going directly to Cullen instead of speaking with Dorian himself on the matter made Dorian flare up in indignation. While Dorian was ready to go where he was needed at Adamant, he did not appreciate being treated like a common soldier and especially to be treated so by the Iron Bull.

“Or if you would rather not fight with the Chargers, I can assign you elsewhere,” Cullen quickly backpedaled, his eyes widening in concerning.

Snapping into a cheerful air, Dorian laughed lightly, “Do not misunderstand me, Cullen, I was just merely surprised at the Bull’s request, a Qunari requesting the aid of a Tevinter mage?”

“As audacious as a Tevinter mage fighting side by side with a former Templar, isn’t it?” Cullen teased gently.

Dorian let out a sharp laugh. “True enough and I will be just as honored to fight alongside the Chargers as I would to be to fight alongside you and your men.” He said it with real sincerity. Dorian was not opposed to the assignment, perhaps just the requester.

“Good, the Chargers can certainly use your help.”

“Who couldn’t use my help?” Dorian’s mouth turned into a self-deprecating smile, leaving unsaid who apparently did not need it.

Not long after his game with Cullen, which was left unfinished due to a lack of concentration on both sides, Dorian sought out the Iron Bull, marching over to the Herald’s Rest with his head held up high and his jaw firmly set. On the way there, he practiced in his mind on how to confront the Bull. He swiftly settled on agreeing to fight with the Chargers, but Dorian’s brain ran through the tongue lashing he would give Bull about going around him and talking to Cullen.

The tavern was filled with its usual afternoon crowd, servants off of their shift, guards coming in from rotation, merchants and pilgrims taking a load off from the journey up the mountain. Dorian paid them no mind as he made a beeline for Bull’s spot at the back of the first floor, it was obscured by the stairs, but a good spot to watch the bar patrons without being near the door. But the chair sat empty and the righteous anger in Dorian deflated pitifully without an outlet.

“The Chief is upstairs in his room.”

Turning around, Dorian immediately spotted Krem in his chair and a bottle of dark liquor resting on his knee and balanced in his sword calloused hand. Krem stared at Dorian, a faint smile playing on his lips as he evaluated the Altus in front of him. Right away, Dorian could tell that Krem knew that he and the Iron Bull slept together and Dorian couldn’t help but feel exposed at such knowledge. 

As far as Dorian knew, no one else knew of their tryst, other than the maid who brought him breakfast after the first time. But now he wondered what Bull was saying to other people, if Dorian was now a boastful story that Bull told as he drank with his men, telling them how he made the evil Tevinter Magister beg for his orgasms. Embarrassment and shame churned in the pit of Dorian’s stomach.

“The door should be unlocked,” Krem helpfully added, his dark eyes flicking up towards the stairs.

Denial about looking for Bull bubbled up in Dorian, but his mind supplied him with no words and his tongue felt dry and stilted. “My thanks,” Dorian half choked out, his numbly forming the words as nodded his head.

His feet carried him up the stairs, the memory of doing so multiple times under the influence of too many beers echoed in the corners of Dorian’s consciousness. He had a different purpose then, wishing to reassert his confidence through sex, to feel wanted again. He felt none of those things as he climbed the steps up to Bull’s door. Without his anger to propel him forward, Dorian could only feel uncertainty while he knocked on the door, ignoring Cole’s pale eyes on his back.

A muffled invitation to enter and the twist of a yielding doorknob, cold under Dorian palm, brought Dorian into Bull’s hardly habitable space. The other times he entered the room, Dorian hardly noticed the wrecked furniture, the debris that covered the floor, the wispy cobwebs in the corners, and the handaxe that was buried in the footboard. In the harsh daylight streaming from the gaping hole in the ceiling, Dorian saw all of those things and the Iron Bull sitting on the bed, rewrapping the grip on his battleaxe.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Bull stated, his eye widening and the corners of his lips curled up as he set his battleaxe off to the side.

“I’m about to make it much more unpleasant,” Dorian replied sharply, his previous outrage was renewed. “I have an issue with some of the liberties you’ve taken.”

Bull ignored Dorian’s comment and said, “I have something for you.” He got up and crossed the room to open a still functional drawer in a tilted dresser, missing a couple of its legs. From the dusty drawer emerged a small bundle wrapped in pristine, white tissue paper tied together with a length of blue twine.

The little package stunned Dorian as it was thrust into his hands. His tongue lashing was stilled momentarily, and his fingers fumbled with the string and wrapping, conscious of the fact that Bull was observing him with amusement. He felt admittedly lightheaded at the thought that Bull thought to give him a present and his mind was racing at the implication. The gift made sense though as the delicate tissue paper fell away and Dorian couldn’t stop his snort of derision as he held several silken scarves of multiple bright colors in his hands.

“I was hoping you could dance for me,” Bull smirked, his voice thick and his hands enveloped Dorian’s hips, pulling him closer.

“There are only five scarves here,” Dorian sniffed indignantly. “I distinctly said that I needed ten to do my dance.”

“Hey, frilly little scarves were hard to find in a fortress where our main occupation is killing vint cultists, demons, and crazy Templars.”

The thumbs resting in the hollow of his hips rubbed small circles along the fabric of Dorian’s outfit. Dorian couldn’t feel much beyond the pressure of the touch, but he was hyper aware of those two little points of contact.

“I can’t stop thinking about how hot you’re going to look with those scarves,” Bull murmured.

Shoving the scarves at Bull and then unbuckling one of the belts around his robe, Dorian answered with feigned hardship, “I suppose I can make do with just five.” 

And he did, because of course Dorian could make do with five pretty lengths of silk against his naked form. Bull, the impatient beast that he was, didn’t even wait for the dance to finish before grabbing Dorian and tossing him onto the bed to make better use of the scarves. To be honest though, Dorian was rarely presented with the opportunity to finish that particular dance.

“What’s your word?” Bull asked, his long fingers wrapped around Dorian’s wrist, dragging it up towards the headboard.

“Katoh,” Dorian answered automatically, not in the mood to drag things out by sassing Bull.

Bright red silk wrapped around Dorian’s wrist and arm, tying around his limb securely as the other end was fastened to the headboard. Bull tugged at the silk, it was snug and secure, but not painful or biting into Dorian’s flesh. “Do you need it?”

Another length of silk, this one a cheery yellow, was wrapped around his other wrist, just as careful and secure as the first. “No.”

Bull’s wide smile showed off his rows of sharp teeth. “Good.”

Dorian’s concept of time seemed to cease when he was within the Bull’s room, especially when he was tied up. With his arms secured, Dorian was free to let go and allow Bull to do as he pleased to him. Any troubles or worries that might have bogged Dorian down were released in a twist of silk and a wicked mouth that was keen to explore every inch of his flawless skin.

Tied up and almost immobile, Dorian let Bull take the lead and was unresisting as Bull parted his legs and swallowed him down, then pulled away before Dorian could finish. He barely voiced any protest when thick, oiled fingers circled his entrance and playfully stroked it before finally dipping in to open him up. And there was nothing he could do when Bull lifted his legs up over wide shoulders, giving him no leverage as Bull’s slicked cock slid into him.

“Damn, look at you, you’re so pretty like this,” Bull moaned, his hips rocking forward. “I should keep you like this, tied up in silk in my bed and waiting for me to come fuck you.”

“Stop with your attempt at flattery and fuck me like you mean it,” Dorian retorted sharply.

A grin spread over Bull’s features. “You know you like it.”

Dorian did. His limbs tightened in their binds and his cheeks heated at that knowledge as he turned his face into the pillow under his head.

Fingers grasped Dorian’s chin, pulling his face forward, and lips attached onto his own, refusing to let him hide. The sheer domination of Bull’s kiss was in sharp contrast to the almost painfully slow slide of his cock, angled just right to brush up against Dorian’s prostate with each thrust. Every nip and gnash of Dorian’s teeth upon Bull’s lips only earned him a slower pace and a feather light graze of fingertips against his leaking cock, just a hint of what he really wanted.

“Please, please, harder, Bull, harder, touch me,” Dorian finally begged, a string of Tevene curses and pleas following soon after as he went limp in the silk. 

“That’s it,” Bull nearly purred against Dorian’s mouth. “Let me take care of you.”

Closing his eyes, Dorian yielded the last little bit of control to Bull and submitted to the demanding kiss. In returned, he was rewarded with what he begged for, harder thrusts and a firm grip on his cock.

“Fuck,” Bull growled, the sound vibrating on Dorian’s skin and his hips snapping forward with purpose, “fuck, you’re so good, feel so fucking good. Let go, big guy, I’ve got you.”

The fingers around Dorian’s erection tightened and Bull struck his prostate in just the right way, and Dorian did as he was bid and let go.

After Bull collapsed on the bed next to him, both of them were sated and exhausted, Dorian idly wondered how long he let the Bull tease and deny him before he was given release at the end of Bull’s cock that had so deliciously rocked in and out of his body. How much time did he waste in Bull’s company?

Instead of berating himself, Dorian let his mind wander as he stared up towards where the ceiling should have been. Sunlight filtered out from the gaping hole in the roof, highlighting the specks of dust floating in the air and the cobwebs in the wooden beams. Next to him, Bull pulled himself up to kneel on the bed, untied Dorian and then occupied his calloused fingers by massaging one of Dorian’s arm and rubbing out the indentations from where he tied the silk scarves around Dorian’s limbs.

“You had an issue with me?” Bull asked suddenly.

“Hm?” Dorian blinked slowly, his brain was too sluggish to catch onto what Bull was asking about.

“When you came in, you said you had an issue with me.”

Remembering his original reason for coming up to Bull’s room, Dorian finally allowed the nagging voice in his head to take over, listening to its whispers about letting Bull distract him so much. The time that he spent between the sheets with the Iron Bull could have been spent doing research for the Inquisition and writing to his contacts in Tevinter to try to find out more about Caius and about Felix and Alexius.

Then Bull pressed a soft kiss on the underside of Dorian’s wrist and the little nagging voice was smothered. It took Dorian more than a few seconds to reorganize his earlier complaints, the reason why he even stormed into the room.

“You spoke to Cullen about having me join the Chargers for the siege on Adamant without consulting me first.”

“And?”

“And if you wanted me to join your merry band of misfits for Adamant, I would have preferred if you had spoken to me directly rather than sneaking behind my back.”

“I wasn’t sneaking behind your back and it was more of a suggestion than a request. I just mentioned it when Cullen and I were looking at where the Chargers will be most needed,” Bull defended himself as he moved onto Dorian’s other arm, his blunt fingers working gently across Dorian’s skin. “You’re right though, I should’ve mentioned it to you first. You don’t have to join us if there are other places you’d be better stationed at. But you’ve got a lot of fire power and there’s no other mage I’d trust more to watch my boys’ backs.”

“Yes, well,” Dorian swallowed around his dry mouth, “of course I will fight alongside the Chargers as someone must keep your lot in line, lest they bring down the entire fortress down on our heads. Though next time, do come to me first rather than the Commander.”

“I promise.” Bull kissed Dorian’s palm with a smile, sending a shiver down Dorian’s arm.

Tugging his hand away quickly, Dorian sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his head light from the sudden movement. “Then I’m glad we had this talk.”

“Stay,” hands grasped Dorian’s shoulders and guided him back down onto the bed. “I’m not done with you yet.”

_When will you be?_ Dorian asked in silent bitterness, but had the good sense to leave it be at the moment.


	4. Gestures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is terrible about accepting gifts.

“Lord Dorian, if you’ve a moment.”

Dorian looked up from his book to find the kindly dwarven woman from Josephine’s staff standing in front of him and holding a thick bundle of parchment to him.

“This just came with the post, ser. It looked important, so I’ve brought it to you directly,” she explained, her face ruddy from the effort of rushing up the stairs.

Catching sight of the Abrexis family seal in red wax, Dorian readily took the packet and was gladdened by her haste. With the Inquisition now counting down the hours before the assault on Adamant Fortress, Dorian was consumed with doing his part on the preparations by researching all that he could on the rituals the Grey Wardens were performing. Dorian was glad to be using his skills to aid the Inquisition, just as he always intended, but because of it he barely even had the time to feel disappointment over the lack of information Maevaris had for him about Caius in her latest letter.

Dorian could somewhat comfort himself with the thought that Felix would want him to concentrate on defeating demons and crazy Grey Wardens over trying to unravel the mystery of what happened to him. Dorian could remember the sheer earnestness on Felix’s face as he convinced Dorian that the Inquisition was the only thing that could put an end the chaos descending upon Thedas and stop his father’s involvement with the Venatori. At least Felix had been right about one of those things.

Though Dorian was less sure of how Alexius would have viewed his involvement in interrupting the Elder One’s plans. He tried not to dwell upon that.

“Thank you, I greatly appreciate your haste.” Reaching into his pocket, Dorian withdrew a couple silvers, the only coins that were there, and pressed them into her hand. “Buy yourself a drink on me, perhaps something a little nicer than that terrible dwarven brew you enjoy so much.”

A toothy smile spread over her face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, ser, and thank you,” she said before taking her leave.

The hefty bundle of parchment in Dorian’s hands stirred both his curiosity and suspicion. Dorian couldn’t sense any spells or enchantments bound to the parchment, but he still wasn’t going to risk opening it out in the library. Gathering up his books and notes, Dorian prepared to retire to his room for the rest of the day and to take a moment to concentrate on his deceased friends, when a voice stopped him.

“Dorian! I’m glad that I’ve caught you!”

The Inquisitor stood in front of Dorian’s library nook, his eyes bright and his smile playing on his lips. Dorian’s foolish heart caught for second before he managed to calm it. 

“Fancy meeting you here, Inquisitor Lavellan, I thought that you were confined to the war room as you plan out every step of the march on Adamant.”

The stiffness of formal titles always seemed to throw the Dalish elf for a loop, but he recovered quickly and replied with some pride, “I managed to escape for a few precious moments and I wanted thank you for showing me to dance. I managed to go through an entire waltz without stepping on Cassandra’s feet, though I still couldn’t really do that dip you did with Josephine.”

“Cassandra?” Feigned surprise made its way into Dorian’s voice even as his heart twisted cruelly. “Well, I suppose it makes sense, her boots are steel toed and Josephine can hardly be seen limping around while greeting our allies.”

Lavellan chuckled, his cheeks flushed as he ducked his head. “You’re rather correct there, I dare say. At least Cassandra barely flinches when I step on her toes and Vivienne thought we could both use the practice.”

Of course she did, Dorian thought with venom. Vivienne cared greatly about appearances and who better to appear on Lavellan’s arm at the Winter Ball than Cassandra?

“Vivienne is right about that, Maker knows how long it’s been since Cassandra has even seen a ball,” Dorian conceded easily even as his heart thudded in his chest. “Do keep practicing with your stern and enchanting partner, Inquisitor, we cannot have the Orlesian court ridicule the Inquisition over your lack of grace.”

“Let’s defeat the demon army first and then I’ll really worry about my dancing skills.”

“Inquisitor, they are both demon armies, one is just better dressed than the other.”

“True enough,” Lavellan agreed, his eyes twinkling in the torchlight and little crinkles creased his mouth and eyelids in his laughter. “Anyway, I am off to see Leliana and I shouldn’t keep her waiting. I also appear to be interrupting your own work.” He clasped Dorian’s leather covered shoulder, “Let’s get a drink soon, Dorian, I miss talking to you.”

A terrible want filled every nook and cranny of Dorian’s being and a wretched feeling of longing filled him as old hurts were reopened from the simple and careless declaration. He truly wondered at how oblivious the Inquisitor could be, how he could not seem to know that every word he spoke seemed to inflict some harm upon Dorian. But then Dorian quickly and silently chastised himself, he was the one who offered himself to the Inquisitor with no strings attached and he could not be missive because Lavellan accepted.

Dorian was the one to offer Lavellan a convenient out, even as he hoped uselessly for more. It was not the first time and Dorian was sure it would not be the last.

“I certainly cannot blame you for missing me. You have been awfully busy and while I am sure staring at the war table is riveting business,” that earned Dorian an exasperated eye roll, “I know it is nothing to my company. You know where to find me, Inquisitor, and should you be in the mood to buy me a drink, I shall not say no.”

“Great! I’ll find you when I have a spare moment.”

Dorian smiled a charming and empty smile that slid away the moment the Inquisitor disappeared up the stairs to the rookery. He didn’t dare linger in his nook and went directly to his room, he didn’t want to give Lavellan the opportunity to come back down the stairs and claim that drink, because Dorian knew he spoke the truth when he told the Inquisitor that he would not say no.

Once he was sealed inside his room, Dorian sat at his desk and quickly opened the bundle he received from Caius.

_My Dear Dorian,_

_I cannot say that I am surprised by the continued delay and I am resolved to be patient. With so many dramatic events in motion, I know that my request is insignificant compared to the plight of other poor souls across Thedas. Never fear, Dorian, I will not back out of our bargain over something as silly as waiting upon the Inquisitor. I have never been so excited to meet with an elf in my life!_

_As you know that I am one to keep myself occupied, my servants and I have been busy interviewing people in Redcliffe about their recent troubles. They will hardly speak with me and I can’t even get a room at the inn, but their tongues loosen for my human servants. Their stories are truly worthy of our pity as I am sure you are well aware. How fortunate we are in the Imperium where we do not have to worry about Templars chasing us down and ripping the country apart with war!_

_You certainly cannot imagine the rumors I’ve collected! They are utterly fantastic, my friend. One claims that the Inquisitor transformed into a great water serpent to seal the rift at the bottom of the lake in Crestwood. Someone told me that the Inquisitor led refugees from Haven to Skyhold while riding a griffon and wielding a sword of flames from Andraste herself. Another mundane, but equally unbelievable tale, has the Inquisitor searching for a villager’s “special” ram!_

_Not all rumors were serpents, griffons, and rams though. Those that I thought may be useful I have recorded carefully and have enclosed them as a gesture of good faith. I hope you and the Inquisition will be able to make some use of them._

_Stay safe in your endeavors, dear Dorian. I hope to hear from you soon._

_Yours,  
Caius of House Abrexis _

True to Caius’s word, there was a stack of meticulously written notes about a variety of rumors that might prove useful to the Inquisition or at least confirm ones that Leliana’s people picked up. Each sheet of paper was numbered and dated with a short description about the interviewee and a transcription in Common of the person’s words. Seeing Caius’s elegant handwriting, his careful notes, and afterthought comments on the margins, was almost enough to dispel Dorian’s earlier suspicions. Almost.

Gathering up the papers, Dorian got ready to bring them up to Leliana when he remembered that Lavellan was meeting with her. He didn’t know how long Lavellan might be talking to his spymaster and with the preparations to march on Adamant coming to a head, he knew it could be a lengthy one. He didn’t want Lavellan to become involved or know anything about Caius, but the same time, Dorian didn’t want to sit on the information.

The decision was taken out of his hands when a loud rap of someone’s knuckles on the door echoed through the small room. Dorian stuffed the papers under his books and before he could even open the door, Bull, the impolite brute, opened the door himself and strode right in. The Bull looked completely unconcerned about his rudeness and, in fact, a large grin split his face as his pale blue eye looked eagerly towards Dorian.

“Hey there, big guy,” Bull’s voice boomed all too cheerfully.

“Maker’s breath, Bull! Haven’t you an ounce of manners in your great bulk? Don’t you have the patience to wait for someone to answer the door?” Dorian said in lieu of a greeting, convincing himself of the insult of the intrusion as he kept his eyes from wandering to Caius’s letter and information.

“Here, this will make up for me barging in.” A paper package tied with twine that was tucked under Bull’s arm was thrust into Dorian’s hands.

The package was large and bulky with weight to it and sharp edges under the paper, leaving Dorian more puzzled than before. “I cannot imagine that these are the other five silk scarves for my dance,” he said loftily as he tugged delicately at the twine.

“That’ll have to wait until I can get to Orlais, I think I’ve already bought all the silk available in Skyhold,” Bull answered easily, letting the implied promise lay between them. “Come on now, stop fiddling with the paper and open it like you mean it.”

Dorian huffed and narrowed his eyes at Bull, but his fingers did as Bull bid and started tearing at the paper wrapping. This time it wasn’t silk scarves to dance with, but rather new dark red and black battlemage robes tailored in his usual style and made of sturdy leathers, enchanted cloth, and reinforced with what looked to be dawnstone, not a metal that they came across often. They were beautiful and expensive looking.

“I had Dagna make them for you, she has all your measurements and knows what you like,” Bull explained quickly. “Your usual skirts are getting worn out and I can’t have you going into Adamant with shabby armor.”

The robes in his hands left Dorian so shocked that he couldn’t even protest that his robes were not skirts. “Why?” was all that he could say.

“Your armor is getting worn,” Bull repeated and his fingers ran over Dorian’s covered shoulder where Dorian usually wore armor, his other arm was uncovered for maximum movement. “The padding right here is getting dangerously thin and you always twist to take the hit there. One good blow and your shoulder will get crushed or worse.”

Dorian could feel his cheeks color at the observation and his mouth thinned out to a hard line. It was true, but there was a certain humiliation at being called out on not taking better care of fixing and updating his gear. Not even to speak of the Bull’s presumption. 

“My armor is none of your concern,” Dorian started haughtily, this time truly feeling the sting of insult.

“Yeah, it is,” Bull cut in swiftly and decisively, leaving Dorian with his jaw tightening. “Look, you’re going into Adamant as one of my guys and I make sure all my men are well equipped to kick ass. I need to know that you’re protected so you can cover our asses out there.”

Dorian’s jaw clicked as he opened his mouth again. “Then I am in your debt,” he said, bitterness sinking into him at the sudden reminder of Lavellan holding out Dorian’s birthright to him, acting as if there were no expectations tied to it. There was always a price to kindness.

“Hey, I’d do this for any of my guys,” Bull’s shoulders shrugged casually. “Think of it as your cut of the bonus we’ll get from the Inquisition for this.”

Despite his sullenness, there was an odd feeling of disappointment that stirred within Dorian at Bull’s words and at the thought that there was nothing behind the gesture. Dorian quickly squashed down that irrational disappointment as he replied indignantly, “I also get paid by the Inquisition.” 

Though the measly stipend, reduced because of his assumed independent wealth and connections, did little to line his pockets.

“But we get paid way more and you’re going to be a temporary Charger. That means you get paid, get to sing the company song, and participate in Pantsless Friday.”

A long sigh escaped through Dorian’s clenched teeth as he estimated the cost of the robes and filed the information in his brain for later. It would take a long time for him to save up the coin to erase the debt.

“Very well. Thank you then for my fair share and the dubious honor of being treated as a Charger.”

Unfolding the robes, Dorian had a few seconds to admire them before a fluttering piece of pink cloth was shaken loose from them and fell to the ground. Laying the robes on the bed, Dorian bent down to pick up the piece of cloth and quickly realized that they were pink silky smalls trimmed with lace. He glared up at Bull, who had the largest shit eating grin Dorian had ever seen spread over his face.

“Do you give these to all of your men as well?” Dorian waved the pink smalls at Bull.

“Nah, those are just for you, thought you might like them,” there was a softness in Bull’s eye that left Dorian a little dumbfounded under his outrage. “But they’re totally enchanted with a protection spell, so you can wear them into battle.”

“Kaffas!” Any warm feelings Dorian held were instantly dashed. “I’m not wearing these into battle against a demon army!”

“I promise that they’re enchanted and it’ll make me feel better if you wear it into Adamant,” Bull insisted, his teeth visible in his wide and insufferable grin. He sat down on the edge of the bed, making himself comfortable as his grin faded. “You know, I didn’t come here just to give you armor, I also wanted to check in with you.”

Dorian was surprised at the cold dread that filled him as he could come up with a short list of topics Bull might want to bring up. “About what exactly?”

“That night a few weeks ago, when you were getting hammered with shitty whiskey and you said you were looking for answers for something personal. Whatever happened with that?”

Dorian blinked, speechless as he tried to figure out what in the world Bull was talking about. Then it dawned on him that Bull was referring to the day when Dorian received Caius’s first letter, the initial offer to find out more information about Felix and Alexius in exchange for meeting the Inquisitor. That night seemed like a long time ago, now just a faint echo misery at the memory of Dorian wrestling with what to do.

The Kirkwall whiskey he drank was long gone and he had assumed as was the Bull’s recollection of that night. Apparently he was wrong.

“Everything turned out for the best,” Dorian answered vaguely, teetering on the edge of an outright lie. “You needn’t concern yourself with it.”

“But I want to,” Bull replied bluntly and without hesitation. “I can make myself useful, hunting down answers used to be my job, remember?”

There was a fleeting and intense second when Dorian wanted to tell Bull about Caius, to have someone to confide in and let the anxiety, hurt, and grief within him bleed out. Even if they weren’t sleeping together, Bull would surely listen as he was that kind of man. It was tempting, but Dorian held his tongue on the topic. He remembered too keenly the vulnerability he exposed himself to when he confided in the Inquisitor over his family affairs.

“There’s nothing more to discuss anyway,” Dorian said shortly. “As I said, everything turned out for the best.”

Bull’s face was still, unmoving as he stared at Dorian before he let out a small sigh and let it go. “Ok, just let me know if you need anything.”

Dorian merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak further on the topic.

Standing up, the Bull waved to the robes laid out on the bed. “Try on the armor. You’ll love it once you put it on, Dagna did real good on this. You’ve got a mirror in here, right?” Bull’s head swung around the room and spotted the offending object in the corner of the room, still covered by a blanket. “Why do you have it all covered up? I’d think you wouldn’t stop looking at a floor length mirror.”

Bull crossed the room to tug off the blanket from the mirror and all Dorian could see in it was a man once again beholden to another, ready to be used and cast aside for what felt like the hundredth time. 

Pausing in front of the mirror, Bull’s hand reached out and his blunt fingertips traced the intricate carvings of the frame. Then, he said aloud, almost to himself, “I remember seeing the boss working on this right after we got to Skyhold.”

“Yes and then he gifted it to me. One does not refuse a gift from the Inquisitor, no matter how gaudy the thing is,” Dorian fibbed. The mirror and its old frame really were beautiful, but stood as a testament of Dorian’s foolishness and inability to distinguish between friendship and romantic interest. “There is no accounting for taste with that man.”

Bull pressed his lips, his fingers still lingering on the carvings and his piercing eye was fixed on Dorian’s reflection. 

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Dorian cleared his throat and resisted the urge to squirm under Bull’s gaze. “I’m rather busy at the moment and I don’t have time for trying on a full set of armor.”

“If you don’t want to put on the full armor right now that’s fine, but at least try on the smalls.”

“Maker’s breath,” Dorian’s hands pressed against Bull’s bare chest and he leaned his weight into them, trying to steer the man out the door. “I’ve had enough of you for one day.”

“Ok, ok, I’m going, but try on the armor soon, you know we’re leaving in only a couple days. If anything needs to be altered, just take it to Dagna and tell her to put it on my tab, she’ll know what that means. If the smalls don’t fit, just come to me, I’ll help you with them.”

“Out!”

A bit of magic helped Dorian shove Bull out of the room and he let the door slam shut with a burst of spirit magic, but it did little to drown out Bull’s laughter echoing down the hall. Dorian fumed for the rest of the afternoon, shoving the gifted armor and smalls out of sight in his wardrobe, and threw the blanket over the mirror. He caught sight of his flushed and frustrated face in its reflection before it disappeared back under the blanket.

But as Dorian stewed in his room, he considered the rashness of his anger. He couldn’t imagine what Bull was trying gain, Dorian already freely offered his body and since Bull was Tal-Vashoth, any information Dorian might have about Tevinter was now useless to Bull. And the Iron Bull was a good enough of a spy that he must know that Dorian was cut off from his family and that he had no money to offer.

The more he turned it in his head, the more Dorian actually began to believe that Bull gave him the armor because his own was in an unacceptable state. It would do Bull and the Chargers no good if Dorian was cut down in the middle of battle because his battlemage robes couldn’t absorb the blow from a demon or Grey Warden. Eventually, shame weighed Dorian down at his ungracious manners and urged him out of the protection of his room. 

His first stop was to Leliana’s space on the third floor of the rotunda and he was not surprised in the least to see her sitting at her table, a map of the Western Approach and Adamant in front of her. There was no sneaking up on her as her sharp eyes lifted from the maps and narrowed in on Dorian.

“A gift from my may or may not be a Venatori friend,” Dorian announced, laying the bundle of papers on the edge of the table, careful not to obscure the map. “Rumors that he collected in Redcliffe, a gesture of goodwill he claims.”

“Or an invitation to a trap,” Leliana replied, her arm stretching out to snatch up the papers.

“That’s why I leave them in your capable hands.”

“It will have to wait until after Adamant, though I had wondered what he had to say with such a large packet delivered to you,” Leliana mused aloud, thumbing through the sheets of paper.

Dorian knew she said it on purpose, revealing her awareness that Caius had sent Dorian something. It was a power play by telling him that she knew of his correspondence, putting him in his place, and he was almost sure that she or one of her people had read it before the packet made it into Dorian’s hands. An unsettled feeling overcame Dorian at the thought that the helpful dwarf in Josephine’s staff might actually be one of Leliana’s agents, meant to keep tabs on the suspect Tevinter mage’s mail. The sign of distrust was just another reminder of why the Inquisitor never addressed the Venatori threat in Redcliffe and instead ran into the arms of the Templars.

Either way, Dorian was relieved that he brought her the papers that night as stirring the spymaster’s suspicion was the last thing he wanted.

Leliana placed the papers to the side and her gaze dropped back down to the map, then added as an afterthought, “I’ll pass it to my agent assigned to this to look into.”

“Very good,” Dorian nodded. “Do have a good night, Sister Nightingale and do try not to stay up all night, you cannot beat our dashing Commander in being a workaholic.”

A faint smirk curled on her lips. “Isn’t that the truth of it? Goodnight, Dorian, and say hello to the Iron Bull for me.”

Dorian didn’t even give a token protest to his frequent association with the Iron Bull as he was far too eager to leave Leliana’s domain.

After departing from Leliana’s cheerful company, Dorian headed towards the tavern to seek out the Iron Bull. An apology was still far from Dorian’s lips, but he knew that a little gratefulness towards Bull’s gesture would not be remiss. He satisfied himself by acknowledging that a drink or a blow job might do well enough to express his thankfulness without Dorian ever having to admit that he might have been wrong.

The tavern was crowded and lively in the evening, but Dorian spotted the Bull right away towards the back of the room, sitting with his men at a long table, a drink in one hand and a spread of cards in the other. Coins and cards littered table top, along with pints of ale, bowls of snacks, and someone’s pants, Dorian tries not to think about that one too hard. Krem was sitting next to the Bull, his hands gesturing as he animatedly wove a tale of the table and inadvertently revealing most of his cards as the rest of the Chargers just laughed. 

There were only a few copper coins in Dorian’s pocket to buy a Fereldan beer, not enough to buy into the game, but he knew Bull wouldn’t mind if Dorian cozied up to him and Krem wouldn’t mind when Dorian gave him hints about Bull’s cards in Tevene. He started to move towards the Chargers, his eyes meeting Bull’s single blue one as the mercenary turned his head in Dorian’s direction. The corners of Bull’s mouth twitched upward at Dorian’s approach and he scooted his chair backwards a bit, as if to get up or to make room for Dorian on his lap.

“Hey, Sparkler!” Varric called out, his hand landing jovially on Dorian’s shoulder. “Glad I found you, we’re about to start up a game of Wicked Grace and we could use another player, especially since Sera will most likely pass out soon at the rate she’s drinking.” He waved his hand at a table composed of Blackwall, Sera, and Dagna.

A real smile appeared on Dorian’s face. “I wonder then why you’re not trying to buy into the Chargers’ game over there.”

“With the Chargers? You know I play a mean game, Sparkler, but I’m liable to end up losing my smalls to that bunch. Besides, Krem is awfully fond of playing by Tevinter rules like you are and I can only deal with one player cheating at a time.”

Dorian hesitated, he didn’t object to the company and it might help his reputation to be seen with the more popular members of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, like Varric and Sera, but a lack of money and his intention to somewhat make amends with Bull was holding him back.

“I’ll buy you in,” Varric offered, too sharp as always, but without condescension, “I still owe you from a couple of our bets and this way I’ll be able to win it back.”

The easiness of Varric’s suggestion and his confidence helped to soothe Dorian’s prickly pride. “Well now, how can I turn down such an offer?”

There was a small inkling in regret that filled Dorian even as he sat with his friends. He thought of Bull sitting with the Chargers, drinking and laughing freely without a care in the world and if Varric hadn’t intercepted Dorian, that’s where he’d be. Dorian could easily weave a scenario in his mind of perching himself on Bull’s good knee, slinging an arm over his broad shoulders, and stealing both drinks and kisses from Bull between hands of cards. 

The image of indulging himself in flaunting his intimacy with Bull in front of everyone in the tavern was a pretty one. But that’s all it was, an image. While they were friends, his intimacy with Bull was only physical and even though he was sure the Bull wouldn’t mind Dorian sitting on his lap, Dorian could think of half a dozen servants and tavern girls who had done the same. Dorian would just be another one.

Pushing aside all thoughts of Bull, with his grins, warm hands, and gifts, Dorian concentrated on his cards.

Their game broke up a couple hours later with Dorian thankfully a few coins richer. By the time Varric, Blackwall, and Dagna bid Dorian goodnight and left Sera to her fate on the tavern floor, several of the Chargers were still playing cards, but Bull’s chair was empty. Dorian lifted his gaze towards the stairs, indecision enveloping him for several moments before his feet led him up the stairs and to the attic, taking him up to the Bull’s door.

His hand grasped the doorknob, fingers wrapping around the cold brass when Dorian heard voices on the other side. It was nothing scandalous for him to get into a huff about. There were no breathy moans or cries of passion, and Dorian was pretty sure the other person was Krem, but it reminded Dorian that Bull was not at his beck and call, and that he had no claim to Bull’s attention. Letting go of the doorknob, Dorian retreated away from the door and was suddenly ashamed at his assumption. 

“He wants you to know that the door is unlocked,” Cole’s stupidly wistful voice filled the attic, though the young man was nowhere to be seen as Dorian’s eyes scanned the room.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Dorian tried to make his escape, but he barely made it to the stairs when the door swung open.

The Bull took up the doorframe and a lopsided smile was slanted on his lips. “You weren’t even going to knock?”

Hand braced on the railing, Dorian stood tall. “You seemed to be occupied.”

“Krem was just leaving,” Bull reassured and the echoing slam of the door leading from Bull’s room to the battlements emphasized his point.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude, I’ve other things to do if you haven’t the time,” Dorian sniffed, trying to come off as disinterested.

Bull stepped aside from the doorframe as if to make room for Dorian and his smile was soft on his scarred face. “I’ve always got time for you, Dorian.”


	5. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and the Inquisition go to Adamant Fortress. Also, the Iron Bull is a bit of a mother hen.

The Western Approach stretched on for endless miles of sand and wind with half buried sun-bleached ruins peeking up through the dunes. It was a lonesome place, made up of vast open spaces and areas marred by blight, with only the most savage of beasts able to call it home. The only disturbance amongst the windswept plains of yellowed sand was the sprawling Inquisition camp with its tents erected, campfires aglow, and everyone preparing for the following day to come.

Less than half a day’s march from the Inquisition’s camp and just beyond the rolling hills of shifting sands was Adamant Fortress. It laid there somewhere in the darkness of the night, filled with crazed Wardens and demons, threatening to tear everything apart. The Inquisition’s army was scheduled to head out at first light and they would not break until their battering rams hit the gates of the fortress.

Earlier, Dorian asked Blackwall about what they might expect within the fortress, hoping that the Inquisition’s Grey Warden might have some insight. Blackwall, as cheerful as ever, answered with his usual eloquence and said, “A nightmare.”

Well, no one had ever accused Blackwall of being too helpful.

Sitting on his bedroll alone in his tent, Dorian tried to distract himself with correspondence he received from his contacts from Tevinter that he received before they left Skyhold. There was a rueful feeling that overcame Dorian at the sudden thought of the possible futility of his work. Not only was there the scarcity of information, but if Dorian was cut down at Adamant there would be no one else to find out what happened to Felix and Alexius. No one else to honor their memory or to really care.

“One more reason to make it out of tomorrow alive then,” Dorian muttered to himself as he opened up his correspondence and started reading in the yellow glow of the flickering flame in a nearby lamp.

A small smile made its way onto Dorian’s face as he read a letter from his mother. His mother was an acquaintance of Lady Abrexis and so Dorian took the chance and wrote to her, inquiring about Caius. Of course, she did not dignify his request with a response, but her cool recounting of all the mundane things in her life made Dorian feel a little homesick. 

He was lulled into the memory of being a small child and sitting on the plush bed of her room, watching as she skillfully applied her cosmetics at her vanity, a glass of wine within reach, as she complained about dinner parties, afternoon teas, and the dress some upstart dared to wear. His mother spoke of those unworthy of her approval with sharp barbs that eventually helped to shape Dorian’s own wicked tongue. He could have listened to her venomous wit all day.

Dorian prickled as he found himself actually missing his mother. It was not such an outrageous thought, he was sure that more than one soldier turned his or her mind to a mother figure on the eve of battle, but his mother was not one for comfort and hugs. Still, she was unflinching and sharp, the embodiment of strength layered with contempt, all while looking flawless draped in silks and holding a drink. And she was the only family he could really turn to with the permanent rift between him and his father, and now that House Alexius was good and gone.

The parchment crinkled under Dorian’s fingers as his throat tightened. Despite their fighting and Alexius’s turn to the Venatori towards the end, Dorian missed Alexius fiercely. It was something he carried with him since hearing the rumors of Alexius and Felix’s demise. But Dorian felt Alexius’s absence keenly, as well as his mother’s, as he sat in the large, empty space of the Western Approach with the distinct possibility that he might not come out of the next day alive.

And to think that Dorian had feelings for, and slept with, the very man who might have been able to help Alexius and Felix, but refused to. For not the first time, Dorian’s heart wavered and he silently questioned what he was doing there with the Inquisition to begin with.

A great shadow drape over the tent, causing Dorian to shake out of his maudlin thoughts and he wasn’t disappointed when Bull ducked inside. On any other day, Dorian would assume that Bull was seeking his company for more pleasurable reasons, but this was not any other day. Only a couple hours ago, Dorian spotted Bull going around to his men, asking how they were feeling before manhandling their equipment and inspecting everything with his keen eye. It seemed that there wasn’t an undone lace, dull blade, or loose hilt that was below the Bull’s attention and each Charger received a deluge of advice on the upkeep of their gear. 

Fondness had expanded with warmth in Dorian’s chest when he caught Bull testing the balance of Krem’s sword and he almost applauded the epic eye roll that Krem gave Bull. The care and attention that Bull put into his company was infuriatingly endearing to Dorian as it only added to his begrudging attraction to the mercenary.

“Come for a pre-battle tumble?” Dorian asked, even though he knew that wasn’t the case. Still, he tucked his letter into his book and his fingers tugged at the straps of his outfit.

“Maybe later,” Bull answered distractedly, his gaze searching the small tent. “Let me see you staff and armor.”

Dorian merely waved over to where his staff was propped up and where his battlemage robes were laid out. Bull didn’t need any further encouragement as he started poking around and almost immediately lifted up Dorian’s set of worn teal and white battlemage robes that he brought as backup.

“You can’t go into Adamant with this! Where’re the robes I gave you?” Bull asked sharply, his fingers prodding the armor, seeking all of the weakness in the old robes.

“Maker’s breath, they’re right there, under my old set,” Dorian rolled his eyes, though not with even half the exasperation Krem possessed earlier. “I only brought those in case I needed the material to repair the new ones.”

Bull only grunted in response as he set aside the old armor and picked up the new set he gifted to Dorian just days before. A low hum rumbled from Bull as a sort of approval, not finding any defects that he could berate Dorian over. Not surprising since Dorian only ever wore them twice. But then he moved onto Dorian’s staff, a beautiful obsidian weapon that licked out flames when Dorian wielded it, and from the frown that creased Bull’s face, he obviously found it wanting.

Real exasperation bristled Dorian as that frown deepened and he asked icily, “What?”

“This is how you wrap your grip?” Bull demanded, not shy about his objections.

“Yes, it is,” Dorian replied shortly, instantly insulted at the suggestion that a mage such as himself could not care for his weapon.

There was a derisive snort for Bull. “Let me show you how to do it right.”

Rising to his feet, Dorian shot back, “I _know_ how to wrap a grip, Bull.”

“Yeah, the wrong way.”

“When have you ever seen me fumble with my staff because of an ill wrapped grip?”

“It could be better.”

“We could be having sex right now, but instead you’re scolding me about the grip on my staff and, Maker help me, you haven’t even bothered with innuendo.”

“Knew you’d give me trouble, that’s why I came to you last,” Bull muttered as he sat down on the ground and started unraveling the perfectly wrapped grip.

“ _Fasta vass_! I’m not a child, Bull! I don’t need you double checking my stuff!” 

Bull ignored him, concentrating on his work as Dorian threw up his arms and sat back down on his bedroll with a huff as he watched Bull redo the staff’s grip. There were little lines of concentration between Bull’s eyebrows and his tongue peeked out between his teeth as he carefully wound sturdy cloth around the staff. It might have been adorable if Dorian wasn’t so put out.

“There, all better now,” Bull announced with satisfaction, putting the staff aside once his work was finished. Freed of his self-imposed task, Bull suddenly had the time to pay attention to Dorian. Blunt fingers made their way to the straps and buckles that decorated Dorian’s clothes, pulling at them suggestively.

“Are you quite finished with criticizing my staff?”

Bull’s palm pressed between Dorian’s thighs, heat and pressure suddenly upon his groin and Dorian’s irritation fell way to stirring interest. “I’ve never criticized your staff.”

“Why do I even bother?” Dorian breathed, but he snuffed out the flame lighting the lamp and allowed himself to recline back onto the bedroll, silently inviting the Bull to have his way with him. 

Without much fanfare, clothes were shucked off and left tangled on the ground as Bull covered the long length of Dorian’s body with his own. Dorian nearly groaned at the overheated touch of Bull’s skin, but whatever sound escaped from his lips was swallowed up by Bull’s kiss. 

Fingers slicked with oil wrapped around Dorian’s cock, stroking and teasing alongside the slide of Bull’s erection rutting into the crease of Dorian’s hip. They settled into an easy rhythm, the lazy roll of hips and mouths resting upon each other, muffling any noises that might have otherwise been vocalized. It was a slow burn of pleasure that spread deliciously throughout Dorian.

They did little more than rut against each other. The tent provided little privacy and Dorian was honestly appalled by how much _noise_ the Iron Bull made while having sex. It wasn’t just moans and growled words of conquest, but also the slap of skin, the draw of the Bull’s breath, and the obscene sound of his thrusts. 

Dorian made it very clear that they would not be engaging in their usual activities on the road, but he quickly made concessions the first time Bull entered his tent on their way to the Western Approach and let Bull jerk them both off. He was actually a little surprised that the Bull didn’t push for more that night, didn’t demand to fuck Dorian considering it could very well be their last time together. Dorian was fairly sure he would have caved, but he was also glad that Bull didn’t ask.

As their pace quickened, Bull’s breath came out in ragged huffs, his teeth gnashed against Dorian’s, and growled, “Gonna mark you up, sweetheart. Going to come all over you and make you filthy like I promised I would.”

A soft grunt escaped from Dorian, one that he hoped conveyed annoyance instead of the arousal that flared through him. He was sure though that his tightening grip on Bull’s horns and the arch of his back gave him away. After that, a couple more strokes from Bull’s clever hand were all that it took before Dorian’s toes curled and his body tensed in orgasm. Dorian went limp under Bull, letting the mercenary finish off against his skin and found that he didn’t even have the energy to reprimand Bull for the far too loud groan he let out.

Fingertips dragged through the mess on Dorian’s belly and Bull asked, “Can I let it dry there? It’d do a lot for my morale to know that you were all messy under your robes at Adamant tomorrow.”

“You will clean up your mess or you won’t make it Adamant,” Dorian hissed with some real heat.

“You’re no fun,” Bull complained, but he was already riffling through Dorian’s things, finding a small cloth for washing. Even out in the middle of the desert, Bull had the time and attention to tend to Dorian. It was actually kind of sweet, Dorian mused.

Once they were both cleaned off, Bull laid back down on the bedroll. His large hands hauled Dorian half on top of him as Bull murmured in the darkness of the tent, “I’m just going to lay here for a few minutes.”

Dorian just nodded as his head settled on Bull’s shoulder, eyes drifting shut and resolute on kicking Bull out of his tent in an hour.

It was still dark when the warm weight next to Dorian shifted and jostled him into semi-consciousness. The grogginess that filled Dorian’s head spoke of a longer sleep than just an hour or two. Wrapped up in his blanket, it took Dorian a few, long moments to realize that he and Bull must have spent the entire night together. A moment of panic seized him at the thought of how he must look with crusty eyes, sleep flattened hair, and most of his cosmetics smeared off of his face. It was probably the most ridiculous thought Dorian could have had in the middle of the desert and right before a major battle.

But Dorian managed to calm down as fingers ran through his hair and dry lips brushed his forehead as Bull murmured, “Need to go get ready and pack up my stuff. Rocky and Sunshine are making breakfast for the Chargers, I expect you out there, big guy.”

Dorian just grumbled into his pillow as Bull’s heat completely disappeared and the desert chill took his place. He didn’t crawl out from under his blanket until Bull left the tent, stretching out the aches accumulated from sleeping on the ground and ignoring the nervous flip in his stomach over what was to come. After dressing and packing up his things, Dorian picked up his staff, ready to head out for breakfast with the Chargers, when he suddenly stopped. Looking down at the staff in his hand, Dorian cursed aloud.

The new grip on his staff was better than it was before.

-

The Inquisition encampment buzzed with activity in the aftermath of the assault on Adamant as Dorian strolled through the rows of tents. Smoke from campfires tinted the air and battle songs were sung off tune due to too much ale as tired and bloodied soldiers relished their triumph and honored those who were lost. Sera’s crooning could be heard above them all, her fright of demons and magic overcome with strong ale and celebratory company.

Dorian understood their revelry as he felt it himself, reinforcing his sense of purpose in joining the Inquisition. Foiling Corypheus’ plans and the capture and impending judgement of one of his idiot countrymen did wonders for Dorian’s determination and commitment. He also felt the same awe and reverence that the soldiers did about the triumph of Inquisitor over the Nightmare demon.

Their victory over the Wardens and the demon army was a miracle, topped off with the audacity of the Inquisitor and his companions walking into Fade and stepping back out alive, minus Warden Loghain. 

While the entire group was shaken what they encountered in the Fade, Vivienne would become insufferable from the experience once she was recovered from her initial shock, Dorian was sure of it. Blackwall and Varric were both visibly spooked by what they saw. A heavy silence overcame Blackwall and when Dorian spoke to Varric, he just let out a dry, empty laugh with a shrug and a small thanks to Andraste that his friend, Hawke, was spared. 

And Mahanon seemed to carry the weight of the world upon him, even more so than usual. After his gracious forgiveness of the Grey Wardens and his insistence that they fight at the Inquisition’s side, the Inquisitor seemed to withdraw into himself and disappeared into his tent after they made it back to camp. 

After washing away a layer of grime and demon’s blood and dressed in a fresh set of robes, Dorian grabbed a bottle of Antivan brandy and strolled through the Inquisition camp, wondering where Bull might be. But as the Inquisitor’s tent came into sight, Dorian paused. Mahanon rejected Dorian as a potential romantic partner, but not as a friend, and at that moment, Dorian knew that he needed one. He could offer a sympathetic ear and some rather fine brandy, like any friend would. Mahanon probably needed the company more than the Iron Bull did.

But before Dorian to could make a move towards the tent, Dorian spotted Cassandra striding confidently towards it, her dark eyes fixed solely on her destination. Thankfully, she did not notice Dorian, her normally keen attention was focused elsewhere, and her face was flush with concern as she approached the tent. His body froze and he watched from a distance as Cassandra pushed aside the canvas flap and ducked inside with confidence.

Dorian backpedaled as embarrassment flashed through him. In the bustle of the camp, no one noticed Dorian standing there, though he felt terribly exposed and he started walking without direction.

Of course, Lavellan would want Cassandra’s comfort above Dorian’s meager offering of friendship and he chastised himself for not thinking of it before. The last thing Lavellan needed was the awkwardness of Dorian’s attempt of emotionally intimacy with him. Cassandra, tough as steel with a romantic heart, was the obvious choice, the obvious person who should comfort the Inquisitor after his tumble into the Fade and recovery of his lost memories.

Unknowingly, Dorian’s feet brought him over to where the Chargers were camped on the outskirts of the Inquisition’s main encampment, along with some of the other mercenary companies that had offered their services. Not that they were exiled to the fringes, but as sellswords, they possessed their own identity, their own culture separate from the Inquisition and preferred to be on the edge. 

The Chargers were lively in their celebration and with reason to as even though several suffered injuries none were killed in the battle, much to Krem’s satisfaction. Dorian rolled his aching left shoulder, the heavy bruise from where he took a blow on his armor while shielding Grim and saving his life from a Terror’s claw when his mana was tapped out and he couldn’t summon a proper barrier.

A hand clasped Dorian’s uninjured shoulder and Dorian found Krem standing close to him, a proud smile on his face. “You did well, Altus, you saved Grim’s life out there.”

“I couldn’t let anything happen to Grim, he’s the most eloquent of the lot of you. Who else would I have a coherent conversation with?”

Krem’s fingers squeezed Dorian’s shoulder. “You took that blow like a proper Charger. Come have a drink with us.”

Most of the company was singing out of tune songs and drinking their way through several kegs of beer, but Dorian didn’t see the telltale horns of their leader in the crowd. “I think I’ll pass for now, it’s been a rather long day.”

“Another time then and don’t think you’ll get off easy.” Krem gave him a half smile and added, “The Chief is in his tent.”

Dorian followed Krem’s pointing finger and spotted Bull’s tent, a battered, old canvas with several mends along the top where his horns poked through on the occasion, and noticed the glow of a lamp coming from it. The light drew Dorian in like a moth and he hovered by the flap, listening carefully to make sure he wasn’t walking in on the Iron Bull with another companion. Dorian was not jealous by principle, but in practice he could never bear the sight of one of his lovers with another person.

When all he could hear was some shuffling and the quiet slosh of water, Dorian invited himself inside. He was instantly exposed to the sight of Bull scrunched up in a large, tin wash basin, a soaped up washcloth in his hand, and water splashing out from the sides whenever he moved.

“You’re bathing!” Dorian exclaimed immediately in half mocking, half genuine shock.

Bull blinked at the sight of Dorian in the tent, but he gave Dorian a lazy grin in greeting. “It’s actually my second one.”

“In your life?” Dorian lifted an eyebrow.

“In the last hour. Demon blood is a pain to get off,” Bull complained.

“That’s what you get for going into battle with hardly a stitch of clothing,” Dorian retorted.

He crossed the distance between them and pulled up a short stool, sitting next to the basin and placing the bottle of Antivan brandy on a nearby table as a promise for later. Up close, Dorian could see the harsh scratches and wounds on Bull’s grey skin. A gash on his arm from a Grey Warden’s staff blade and burns from a Rage demon were treated with care by Stitches, along with other countless bruises and cuts from the fight. 

Just hours ago Bull was a force of fury and rage, his greataxe swinging through the air and cutting through demons and Grey Wardens alike. It was a sharp contrast to the current sight of him naked, squeezed into a too small bath with his knees drawn up to his chest and a dark circle under his one pale eye, set in his tired, drawn face without even his usual eyepatch to protect his vulnerable expression. It was then that it struck Dorian that the battle must have been a difficult one for Bull, having to fight a fortress filled with demons and out of control mages, things he learned to fear under the Qun.

Dorian swallowed and wondered if he was actually welcomed in Bull’s tent.

“I can give you a bit of privacy if you like,” Dorian offered.

Bull shook his head. “I could use the company.”

Dorian let out his breath.

“You were real good out there,” Bull started, dunking the washcloth into the water and twisting his arm to reach his back. “All fire, lightning, and your creepy necromancy shit. I think some of those Grey Wardens actually crapped their pants when you raised that Pride demon after we killed it. That was damn impressive.”

“I’ve done it before,” Dorian rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “My goal is to raise a dragon after we’ve slayed it.”

“Can you really do that?” Wonder edged with fear formed Bull’s question.

“We’ll see.” 

“I hope so, that’s something I want to see.”

An exasperated sigh came from Dorian as he watched Bull try to wash his back, missing spots of dried sweat and lingering bits of demon blood. “Maker, let me do it,” he snatched the cloth away from Bull. “No wonder this is your second bath.”

The water in the basin was tepid at best and without thinking, Dorian dipped his hand half in and warmed the water. He recoiled as Bull stiffened at the suddenly change in temperature, but the mercenary relaxed after a couple seconds and exhaled a long, pleased sigh. The slightest of nods invited Dorian to continue.

Lathering up the soap in the cloth, Dorian washed Bull’s broad back, keeping his hand firm enough not to tickle, but gentle enough not to be rough against his wounds. Carefully applying heat into his hand, Dorian kept the washcloth warm and helped to work out the aches in Bull’s muscles. Bull leaned forward to give Dorian better access, his single eye fluttered shut, and his body became more lax under the ministrations.

“You’re good at this,” Bull commented, his voice low and in a partial moan.

Dorian remembered after Felix was blighted and taking the time to wash his friend after bad bouts of illness. There were more than enough servants to do the task, but the helplessness that weighed Dorian down as he and Alexius fruitlessly searched for ways to cure Felix, became more than he could handle. Helping Felix, giving him some comfort by bathing him when he was too weak, managed to soothe Dorian’s rapidly fraying emotions.

Dorian grabbed the pitcher of water from the nearby table, heating it before using it to rinse off Bull’s back. “Not surprising, since I’m good at everything. Even at menial tasks such as washing a bloodied Qunari.”

Bull just hummed in appreciation before Dorian finally finished and then rose from the basin and drying off with a large flannel towel. He didn’t bother to dress, but there was nothing suggestive as he approached Dorian, who stood up from the stool, not wanting to give the Bull much more height advantage. Bull stepped into Dorian’s space, his hand hovering over Dorian’s left shoulder and the heat of his body bleeding through Dorian’s thin, cotton robe.

“Saw you take that blow for Grim.”

“Yes, well, thankfully that demon hit my armored shoulder, or else I might not have an arm ...” 

Dorian trailed off as Bull’s fingers grasped the collar of Dorian’s robe, carefully pulling it away, and revealing the blotchy, deep, black bruise that covered most of his shoulder. Thankfully, the new armor Bull gave him absorbed the worst of it. A sharp gasp overtook Dorian when Bull’s hands settled on his waist, then ducked his head down to briefly and tenderly brush his lips upon Dorian’s battered skin. There was a throb of pain along with a small shiver of pleasure that ran through Dorian from the simple touch.

“Did you have Stitches look at this?” Bull’s mouth was resting over the pulse of Dorian’s throat.

“One of the Inquisition healers did.”

“Have Stitches look at it in the morning.” Bull’s lips slowly traveled up over the shell of Dorian’s ear before stopping at his temple, his voice was muffled as he urged, “Stay with me tonight.”

Closing his eyes, Dorian took a long breath, he didn’t want to leave, but there was a lingering ache in his muscles and exhaustion ingrained deep in his bones. “I’m not sure I will be proper company.”

The hands on Dorian’s waist squeezed him. “Just stay with me.”

After the long fight at Adamant, Dorian didn’t care for the thought of going back to his tent alone, of sleeping by himself after cutting down demon after demon. Indulging Bull would be a relatively small price to pay. His fingers immediately unbuckled the simple straps of his robe and shrugged off the outer layers as he kicked off his boots without a care. Dorian’s hands fell down to the laces in his leggings, but paused as Bull stepped away from him and started pouring a healthy amount of the Antivan brandy into two tin cups of questionable cleanliness.

“A nightcap?”

Dorian reached out to the offered cup, their fingers brushing alongside each other. “That’s what I brought it for.”

Bull sat down on his bedroll and stretched his legs out, patting the space between his long limbs for Dorian to sit down between. He obliged Bull, settling between his legs and reclining back against his solid chest as Bull wrapped an arm around his torso.

The brandy was smooth against his tongue as he took a sip and behind of him Dorian could hear Bull swallow his down in undignified gulps. Then Bull’s face fell forward and was soon buried in his air, warm brandy spiced breath dancing over Dorian’s scalp and sending shivers down his spine.

“I needed this,” Bull breathed. “After all that demon shit, I just … I needed this.”

His words felt too heavy and they carried too much weight for Dorian to bear at that moment. Swallowing a deeper mouthful of the brandy, Dorian hooked a thumb into his leggings and pulled down an inch of the fabric, revealing pink silk and lace. Bull pulled his face away from Dorian’s hair at the moment and his eye dropped down to Dorian’s hip.

Bull let out a loud bark of laughter that rang harshly in Dorian’s ears. “I knew you’d wear them!”

“I didn’t wear them into battle,” Dorian insisted.

But Bull kept laughing, his body loosening and his arm held Dorian even closer. Dorian fancied he could feel the Bull’s heart beat through his chest, steady and strong against his back.

“Did you want to see them?” Dorian hooked his other thumb into his leggings.

Long, thick fingers wrapped around Dorian’s wrist. “Another time. Tonight, just lay here with me.”

That statement felt like something more than what Dorian was expecting. He couldn’t explain what it was. If the Iron Bull wanted to get drunk and fuck Dorian to forget, that he could understand. But this felt like something altogether different. All he knew was that he was walking a dangerous path, one he took with the Inquisitor before, but in the aftermath of Adamant Dorian was willing to take the risk with little regret.

Leaning back into the Bull’s embrace, Dorian nodded. “I’ll stay.”


	6. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are disappointingly quiet, until they're not.

Dorian leaned against the railing of Vivienne’s balcony, watching the crowd gathered below in the great hall. Lavellan stood out in his somber dress uniform, clashing with Josephine and the shimmering fabrics of her dress, and looking slightly uncomfortable on his golden Orlesian throne. There was some comfort in knowing that the uneasiness was from the attention as Lavellan was quite recovered from his ordeal in the Fade.

But Dorian remembered the slight faltering in Lavellan’s features as they spoke earlier, the clear grief over Warden Loghain and the gentle wobble in his voice that made Dorian’s heart ache in sympathy.

_“I wish you’d been there.”_

Rolling his left shoulder, still aching from his injury at Adamant, Dorian hadn’t lied to the Inquisitor when he said that he was glad that he wasn’t. Who knows the trouble the Chargers would have been in without him?

All eyes in the great hall were fixed upon the Inquisitor and there was a collective help breath as he proclaimed his judgement on Magister Livius Erimond for his crimes against the Grey Wardens and all of Thedas.

“You will die,” Lavellan announced, his voice strong and clear in the hall. “By my hand.”

It should have come to no surprise to anyone as the Inquisitor sentenced Erimond to death, but there was a ripple of excited whispers at the verdict.

Though the spectacle and satisfaction of Erimond’s sentence should have absorbed all of Dorian’s attention, he was somewhat distracted by the Iron Bull. Not that the Bull was doing anything particular, he was merely leaning against the railing as well, standing close enough to Dorian that their arms touched and Dorian’s shoulder dug into the meat of Bull’s bicep. It was such a simple and casual touch that shouldn’t have mattered, but Dorian was keenly aware of every shift of Bull’s limb and even the subtle sound of his breathing.

“I hope, my dear Lord Dorian, that you are not squeamish over the fact that one of your countrymen should face the Inquisitor’s blade,” Vivienne stated coolly as she too watched from her lofty perch.

“Not at all, Madame,” Dorian replied with equal coolness, his eyes remained fixed on the crowd. “You should be reminded that I’ve observed the Inquisitor slaughter countless Venatori and not to mention the many I reduced to ash myself.”

“That was in the heat of battle, but an execution is so much more personal. It’s a statement on the Inquisition’s stance upon such cretins like your Magister Erimond.”

Dorian hid his irritation at Vivienne’s implication that Erimond was his in anyway, reminding him all too much of Blackwall’s earlier accusation that Corypheus was one of his own. And he understood her meaning on the Inquisition’s stance all too clearly. Denam, a Templar who stood before the Inquisitor for his heinous crimes against his own order and Thedas, got to keep his life and Erimond, a Tevinter Magister with equal sins, would not see the same mercy.

“Your concern is well meaning, I’m sure,” Dorian said without sincerity, “but the only regret I feel at the moment is that I will not be the one to relieve Erimond of his head.”

The First Enchanter arched her eyebrow, “Your passion for killing Venator is so noted, my dear.” Vivienne then turned to the Iron Bull. “Bull, darling, does the Inquisitor still train with Cassandra? Our Inquisitor Lavellan is as graceful as any with his daggers, though I haven’t the same confidence in his skills with a sword. I do detest a messy execution.”

“I see them on the training grounds together fairly often, ma’am, the boss should be able to handle it,” Bull confirmed.

“Excellent, Cassandra has certainly done the Inquisitor a world of good.”

Dorian clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

Bull shrugged absently, his arm rubbing alongside Dorian’s at the motion. “Cass is a good teacher.”

“Despite Cassandra’s lack of social grace, she’s a good influence upon Inquisitor Lavellan,” Vivienne continued, “and it has bolstered the Inquisitor’s reputation to be seen with her at his side so often.”

The inside of Dorian’s cheek smarted as his teeth bit into the flesh even as his features remained still. Now Vivienne was just being vicious and Dorian could only suppose that seeing another Tevinter rat brought it out in her.

“Let’s go, big guy,” Bull’s elbow dug softly into Dorian’s side as a Grey Warden was presented in chains to the Inquisitor and his throne. “This is getting boring.”

Despite the ruckus going on below, Dorian had to silently agree. He could hear Ser Ruth’s pleas for punishment ring out through the hall and he was in no mood to listen to her prostrating to the Inquisitor.

“I’ll see you later for tea, ma’am,” Bull ducked his head respectfully.

“Do be sure to wash before time this time, darling.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dorian followed the Bull without a word and left without the courtesy of bidding Vivienne goodbye. Once they were outside, in the cool crisp air and in the whipping wind atop the battlements, Dorian could no longer remain quiet.

“ _Kaffas_! The very nerve of that woman!” Dorian hissed as he paused along the battlements. “To suggest that I might feel sympathy for that Venatori asshole! As if I didn’t run all the way from Redcliffe with the Venatori on my heels to warn the Inquisition of their coming! As if she has not witnessed me cutting down scores of them without hesitation!” His hands balled up into fists with his manicured fingernails digging into his palms. 

Bull’s hand touched his shoulder, a heavy and normally comforting weight, but it did little to ease Dorian’s agitation.

“Is this how little everyone regards my loyalty to the Inquisition?” Dorian spat angrily. “Do they truly expect that I might burst into tears at the sight of a worthless Venatori losing his head? Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised though, not with so many southern Templars crawling around and the general disdain for mages around here.”

But Dorian did wonder at how he would have reacted if Alexius was forced to stand before the Inquisitor to face judgement. How he would have reacted if Alexius was made to kneel for the Inquisitor’s blade and to be executed as a Venatori. Or even worse yet, how he would have felt and act if Felix was implicated as an accomplice to his father’s sins and faced the same punishment. Dorian knew he could not have watched such proceedings with the same indifference as he did with the pronouncement of Erimond’s fate.

Would he still have fallen for Lavellan if the Inquisitor had ordered Alexius’s death, Dorian wondered. Knowing of what Alexius was involved in, what chaos and misery he was helping to usher in, and how easily Dorian was drawn in by Lavellan, Dorian honestly didn’t have an answer.

Bull’s solid form pressed up against Dorian and strong arms wound around his torso in an inescapable hug. “Ignore her. She’s just being catty today because Cole stole one of her crazy hats for that Nevarran maid’s birthday. Besides, anyone who counts know where your loyalties lie, the boss does too.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Does the Inquisitor not count then?”

A chuckle vibrated through Bull’s chest, but he did not give Dorian an answer. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said instead.

“Oh?” Curiosity with a heady mix of caution easily turned Dorian’s mood.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Dorian followed the Bull to his wreck of a room, a space Dorian seemed to be occupying more often in the days since their return from Adamant. It was still hardly functional as a living space, with dust constantly floating in the air, crumbling furniture, and cobwebs decorating the bared ceiling beams, but Dorian found it less repulsive than he did before. And he was familiar enough with the landscape of the room that he immediately noticed a large royal blue blanket neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

“You’ve obtained a proper blanket,” Dorian observed as he move towards the bed, “that is a surprise.”

Once Dorian touched it, he could feel the heft of the fabric and the delicious softness of the white lamb fleece on the underside of the blanket. The blanket was well made, delicately embroidered around the edges with pale silver thread, looking rather Orlesian in style and nothing like what the merchants in Skyhold had in their usual wares. Then Dorian recalled Krem hauling a large package not long after the Chargers returned from an assignment in Orlais a couple of days ago and the lieutenant sparing Dorian a quick glare before disappearing up the tavern stairs to Bull’s room.

“Is this what I spotted poor Cremisius was carrying up to your room before? That would certainly explain the sour look he gave me when I saw him with it.”

“Maybe.” But Bull’s grin confirmed what Dorian already knew.

Dorian hardly had time to think about the nature of the surprise when Bull grabbed him by the waist, throwing him onto the bed and started tugging off his boots. 

“ _Kaffas_ , Bull! Was that necessary?” Dorian swore even as he began to strip off the outer layer of his robes. 

It seemed like a far too nice of a blanket to be fucked on, but Dorian wasn’t going to protest over how Bull spent his money and used his nice, new things. But Dorian was surprised when Bull, kicking off his own boots, just sat up against the headboard, settled Dorian between his outstretched legs and pulled up the blanket over the both of them. The warmth of the fleece enveloped Dorian paired with the heat radiating from Bull’s body, making Dorian almost melt against the mercenary.

“There, now you can’t complain about the cold and runoff whenever you like.”

Dorian’s breath caught in just the slightest bit. “Not that I’m one to object to being showered with finery, you could’ve fixed the hole in your roof.”

“Meh, this was easier.”

They were awfully cozy under the thick blanket and sitting with Dorian’s back pressed to Bull’s bare chest. There was an odd casualness to it all that shouldn’t be there as no expectations were raised in exchange for the blanket. The gift of the new blanket and Bull’s bold words about Dorian not running off anymore were all done with an easiness that Dorian was unfamiliar with when it came to anyone other than Bull. 

An emotion that Dorian could hardly recognize gripped his heart, squeezing it in a sweet, but painful way. Like the chaste night they spent together after the battle at Adamant, this felt like something deeper and more intimate than all the times they had sex together. A worried and tight feeling coiled in the pit of Dorian’s stomach. 

Clearing his throat, Dorian said, “As nice as this blanket is, I really have quite a lot of work to do.”

A book was thrown into Dorian’s lap and it took him a moment to realize that it was one of the Tevinter tomes that Maevaris was kind enough to send to him, which he was currently in the middle of reading. It was a superior resource than many of the Inquisition’s books for researching the magic and artifacts that the Venatori were using. The last time Dorian saw the tome was earlier that morning when it was sitting on his chair in the library.

The Bull sounded far too smug as he proclaimed, “Got your book here.”

Acknowledging that he was outplayed, Dorian took up the book and started where he left off and Bull had his own work ready. A ledger book was open on his good knee and a pen in hand as he ran through the payments for his men. But running numbers didn’t hold Bull’s attention for long and Bull soon abandoned his chore to chat inanely at Dorian about anything and everything in Skyhold.

“I hear that Josephine’s got her smalls in a twist over the Grand Ball. She’s got Cullen cowering in his tower and not even Leliana is approaching her,” Bull gossiped. “The other I asked Leliana how the plans were going and I swear she went pale and she told me to lower my voice, she was afraid Josephine might hear us talking about it.”

“Hm.” Dorian didn’t look up from his book, but hummed in semi interest. While the relief was almost palpable in Skyhold at the Inquisition’s victory over the demon army, Josephine was frantic in her preparations for the Grand Ball. Their ambassador was stirring up an entirely different type of tension that apparently sent everyone running.

Bull’s fingers found their way to a loose thread from the sleeve of Dorian’s cotton under robe and began to toy with it. He tugged at the thread until Dorian grunted his disapproval and then continued with his rambling, “Varric’s got it on good authority that Josephine is planning on decking us out in matching red velvet uniforms with blue sashes.”

Dorian’s head jerked up from his book. “Then Varric’s information is wrong,” he replied swiftly, “I refuse to believe that our ambassador would do something so cruel. Nor would Leliana and Vivienne allow something so atrocious to happen. No, he must be wrong.”

“I’m just passing on what I’ve heard. I also guess she’s even forcing some people into dance lessons, though I suppose you already know about that.”

The page wrinkled just the slightest bit under Dorian’s fingers. He had also heard of the dance lessons continuing in Josephine’s office and he spotted Cassandra with her steel toed boots following Lavellan behind that door on more than one occasion.

“Ma’am thinks I should learn, just in case.”

Dorian let out a rather loud and derisive snort. “You once told me that the nobles don’t invite you to have tea, so I believe you’ll be safe from requests for a dance.”

“Hey, you never know when some dowager or duke will want to hire me to be a very personal and hands on bodyguard.”

Dorian only snorted again and ducked his head down to focus on his reading.

“Is that the fancy book you were going on about? The one that’s going to tell us who Corypheus really was?”

“The Liberalum? No, the Inquisitor sent one of Leliana’s people to Tevinter to get it. Last I heard, she’s on her way with it and then some, such a thoughtful agent. This is just a piece from my friend’s library. Maevaris was generous enough to share resources with us. Do be sure to handle it with care the next time you steal it from me.”

“I was actually surprised that there weren't any letters waiting for you in your little nook when I grabbed your book earlier,” Bull mused aloud. “It seemed like not long ago you were always busy with correspondence, you’re a popular guy.”

That made Dorian pause. In the time since they returned to Skyhold, Dorian made little and insignificant progress in his inquiries to find out about Caius and what happened to his friends as his limited resources dried up quickly. While he found renewed energy in his work for the Inquisition, his hopes about bringing himself some closure about Alexius and Felix were waning.

“There’s nothing to write about anymore,” Dorian answered softly, shame and frustration spiking through him.

Arms wrapped around Dorian’s shoulders, pulling him back as Bull’s chin rested on his head and then Bull drew up his knees, completely boxing Dorian in. It was a simple gesture, but Dorian couldn’t deny how warm and secure the hug felt. Bull obviously sensed Dorian’s malaise, but was kind enough not to probe and Dorian allowed a moment of self-pity in Bull’s embrace.

Dorian didn’t know how long they sat there intertwined with each other, but it was surely long enough that Bull missed his teatime with Vivienne. But Bull made no move to break the embrace, he made no demands upon Dorian, and Dorian couldn’t deny that it was exactly what he needed. He just needed a moment of peace and the Iron Bull, the great lumbering Qunari who he slept with, was able to provide it. 

Without any word from Leliana, it seemed that the entire business with Caius was in a perpetual limbo.

Until one day it was not.

It was a particularly warm day up in the Frostback mountains and Dorian positioned his chair in the library close to the open window. He was sitting in a nice patch of sun, warming himself as he did his research, and never mind if he could see the Bull and his Chargers through the window, practicing out in the yard below. His mind was pleasantly occupied and his face heated only by the sun as his eyes wandered from his book to the men bashing themselves with training swords, the Iron Bull and his shirtless form clearly visible in Dorian’s line of sight.

“Dorian.”

Dorian was startled to find Leliana standing in his nook, holding out several sheets of paper to him. Standing to take the papers with some caution, Dorian caught Caius’s name written in plain script.

“The report from my agent on the information collected on Abrexis. There is no direct evidence that he is involved with the Venatori, but he was seen questioning suspected members. Though that in itself may not be as damning as it sounds, considering the fact that he has made quite a nuisance of himself by collecting accounts from villagers about what happened in Redcliffe,” Leliana summarized. 

A knot unwound itself in Dorian’s chest as he could easily imagine Caius pursuing both Fereldans and their countrymen to get a complete picture of the rebel mages occupying Redcliffe and Alexius’s sudden arrival. A small kernel of hope grew within him at the possibility of the answers he sought becoming soon within his grasp.

“That does sound like Caius, he is a historian at heart. It could be the reason why he claims to know about Alexius and Felix.”

Leliana’s features remained neutral and unmoved by Dorian’s observation. “Or he is working as an informant and knows to cover his tracks. Might I remind you that he was seen speaking to your less than innocent countrymen.”

“Yes, there is that and he is a clever sort of man,” Dorian frowned. “Makes for an interesting friend and a dangerous enemy.”

“I am recommending that you not take the risk in meeting with him,” Leliana advised swiftly and a gravity that did not speak of a mere recommendation. “The information we have on Abrexis does not put me at ease and what we might gain from the encounter, beyond your own closure, is not worth it.”

“I suppose that I must defer to your superior judgement on the matter,” Dorian kept his voice even.

“Good, then we shall consider the matter closed,” Leliana reaffirmed before taking her leave.

Dorian dropped back down into his chair, his eyes rapidly consuming the contents of the report. The inconclusiveness of the report was a bitter disappointment and Dorian was in no better position than he was before. If the information had swung either way, Leliana might have volunteered resources to pursue the matter. But the risk of walking into an ambush unprepared or the scandal of assaulting an innocent man, even one from Tevinter, did not seem worth it. Not on Dorian’s behalf at least. Dorian could easily understand Leliana’s reasoning and her recommendation, even if he knew that he could not let the matter go.

Slipping the pages of the report into the spell book at his hip, Dorian headed out of the rotunda and made his way towards the tavern. There was a great deal for him to think about and he didn’t want to do so without a drink at hand.

There was a rare and blissful quiet that had fallen over the Herald’s Rest. The sparse midafternoon crowd was settled in, half the seats were empty, and the bard was nowhere in sight. A handful of coppers bought Dorian a mug full of Fereldan ale and he automatically moved towards the back of the room where the Chargers usually sat. Thankfully Bull and his Chargers were absent from their almost permanent post in the tavern, still outside running their drills. Taking Bull’s usual seat, Dorian hid himself from view behind the stairs and took a moment to consider his options in solitude.

Dorian was going to arrange the meeting with Caius in Redcliffe before the man ran out of his saintly patience, there was no doubt about that. He also couldn’t breathe a word of it to Bull. There was no way he could let Bull become tangled up in his affairs in such away and put himself in further debt to the man. While Bull comfortably brushed of any attention and gifts he paid to Dorian as insignificant, Dorian kept a mental tally and could not allow the scales to tip even further out of his favor. He would not allow himself to walk the same path with Bull as he did with Lavellan. At least Dorian knew better this time around and continuing his silence about Caius was an easy matter.

One challenge he faced was getting Caius to talk, Dorian mused as he took a long drink of his frothy ale. He knew that he had little to offer if Caius’s claims turned out to be genuine, but Dorian hoped that he might entice Caius with firsthand accounts of the Inquisitor’s adventures. There was also their past attachment that Dorian hoped to leverage as previous encounters suggested that Caius was not above being swayed by his emotion. Either way, Dorian would have to trust in his abilities of persuasion and have confidence that he could handle whatever awaited for him there.

Then there was the simple matter of leaving Skyhold. Traveling alone was not advisable, but asking for an escort from Cullen would raise a lot of questions and even if he got away with it, Dorian did not want to end up with a Templar in the mix. Dorian looked up towards the second floor of the tavern, there was that Sutherland fellow, a useful young man eager to prove himself, but Dorian did see the Inquisitor stop to talk to him several times and the young man was quick to tell tales about all of his adventures. His gaze then fell to the other occupants of the tavern, catching the sight of members of the various mercenary groups who were hired by the Inquisition. They were all trustworthy and discrete, but expensive.

Dorian sighed wearily into his beer and tried to think about solutions to his current problems. If he sold a few things, the last of his jewelry, his birthright, and maybe even the armor Bull gave him, he was sure he could afford a small escort from one of the mercenary companies. As much as he loathed the thought of parting with his birthright again and his other possessions, Dorian knew he owed as much to the memory of his old mentor and best friend.

“What’s with the long face? Is it because the Chief told you we’re heading out again and you’re going to miss our company?”

Krem sat down in the seat next to Dorian, his beer sloshing in its tankard and the corner of his mouth curled into a half smile. The handsome Tevinter warrior was flushed from exercise and a light sheen of sweat made his skin glow, cutting a fine figure for a man of his station as a lieutenant of a respected company. 

“You’re leaving, are you? What wild goose chase are the Chargers being sent off to this time?” Dorian asked, hating that he actually did feel disappointment as he enjoyed not only Bull’s company, but the Chargers as well.

“Just a run into Redcliffe. I guess some bandits have settled in that old cave near the village where the rebel mages were holed up. There are Inquisition soldiers in the area and they’re keeping the bandits back, but they’re too busy with helping the refugees to launch a full assault. So Commander Cullen asked if the Chargers could go root them out. We’ll be heading out in a few days.”

Dorian perked up as a perfect opportunity folded out before him and for once his luck turned in his favor. He couldn’t have asked them as an escort on his own, not without rousing Bull’s attention, but they were already going on Cullen’s order and thus providing a perfect cover. 

“Would you be opposed to adding one more to your party to Redcliffe?”

Krem blinked sharply. “You want to go to Redcliffe? You know that the Chief isn’t coming with us, this isn’t an opportunity to have some getaway with him.”

Better and better. “I have personal business to conclude there and I do not have the luxury to wait upon the next time the Inquisitor ventures that direction.”

A frown creased Krem’s handsome face, but it smoothed out as he just shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Is everything ok? Do you need some of the Chargers for an escort for your business? I can spare a few of the guys.”

“Everything is perfectly fine, Cremisius,” Dorian was quick to reassure. “I’m merely meeting with a retainer to finish up some loose ends,” he fibbed, “and considering the spectacle my last personal meeting became, I’d be grateful for some discretion.”

As a fellow citizen of Tevinter, Dorian hoped that Krem would understand the need for some secrecy. Even a Soporati, Dorian was sure that Krem could appreciate the need to keep one’s matters quiet and for discretion to keep others from gaining leverage. 

The mercenary lieutenant kept an unreadable expression as he nodded. “I get it.”

“Excellent! I am sure that the Chargers will be more than heartened by my company and I shall compensate you accordingly,” Dorian beamed. 

The tightness in his chest was loosening and Dorian allowed himself the pleasure of knowing that things were going his way for once. The Chargers were expensive, but considering they were already going to Redcliffe and the personal relationship Dorian had with them, he was sure that he could negotiate a more reasonable price.

Krem’s leg swung out and the tip of his boot struck Dorian’s shin in a gentle rebuff. “You’re our friend, Dorian, you don’t owe us anything.”

He was more than a little touched by the sentiment. “Then the first round of drinks in Redcliffe is on me. So, a few days from now? That will work very well for me. If you’ll excuse me, Cremisius, I need to make some arrangements.”

“Ok, yeah.” Krem answered, a slight frown sloping down the corners of his mouth once again. “I’ll see you at dinner, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Dorian nodded distractedly before rushing back to his room.

Once he was locked in his room, Dorian sat at his small desk, took out a clean sheet of paper, dipped his pen into the inkpot, and started writing. Curling letters scratched at the parchment under his pen and smeared just slightly in his haste.

_Dear Caius,_

_Good news about that audience you were asking for!_


	7. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to Redcliffe is paved with good intentions.

The sun was bright in the eastern horizon, its rays stretching out without a cloud to mar its light and the morning air was crisp and clean. The favorable weather put Dorian in good mood as he met the Chargers out by the front gates of Skyhold. In the grey of the early morning light, there were only the guards to see them off and there would be no fanfare from the people or the hustle of last minute instructions from the advisors. It would be just a quiet exit for the Chargers and their tagalong.

A good start for the short trip to Redcliffe, Dorian thought with satisfaction as he saddled up his horse.

The night before he managed to avoid the Bull, sequestering himself in his room with several dusty tomes and citing important research as the excuse for his business. Not even Bull's sweet promises and his overly fancy blanket could lure Dorian out. 

Dorian also took the precautionary step of casually telling Cullen of his absence when they played chess the day before. The man was so distracted by Josephine’s planning for the Winter Ball that he could hardly think to ask why Dorian was going to Redcliffe. A vague answer of personal affairs seemed to satisfy the Commander. It gave Dorian an out if anyone inquired to his whereabouts. He didn’t sneak away because he told Cullen about his trip.

With his pack secured to the back of his chestnut colored Fereldan mare and dressed in his clean travel leathers, Dorian swung up onto his horse, eager to get onto the road.

“Ready to go?” Krem asked, trotting his horse close to Dorian’s.

“I am ready when you are, Lieutenant Aclassi.”

Krem rolled his eyes. “You better remember my rank on the road and follow my directions, Altus. I don’t want the Chief whining to me that you got killed because you didn’t listen to me and chased after something shiny.”

“Don’t worry, Krem Puff, I’ll keep him occupied so he doesn’t run off.”

The Iron Bull’s voice shattered the morning calm and quick twist of Dorian’s neck confirmed Bull’s presence. The mercenary was leading his great beast of a horse towards them, the horse was saddled up with Bull's travel bag packed and the mercenary had his favorite battleaxe slung over his back. Dorian immediately glared at Krem, who merely shrugged and did not appear the least bit sorry for betraying him.

“Coming with us, Chief?” Krem asked, even though he very well knew the answer.

“Yeah, it’s been awhile since I’ve run a job with the boys. Hey there, big guy, I thought I told you that your place with the Chargers was temporary,” Bull grinned at Dorian before climbing onto his own horse. “Or are you trying to angle yourself a job? The Inquisition won’t last forever and we do get paid very well, there’s always room for one more mage.”

Dorian stiffened in his saddle and his hands gripped the reigns, his nails digging into the supple leather. “Nothing of the sort, I assure you. I have a small errand to attend to in Redcliffe and thought your men would make a suitable escort since they already had marching orders to head there.”

The Bull lifted his eyebrow and coyly asked, "Was that why you were so eager to finish up your research last night?"

If Dorian's posture could have become straighter, it would have. His excellent breeding and pride would not allow him to squirm under Bull's scrutiny.

“Enough chit chat,” Krem thankfully interrupted, “let’s get a move on.”

Bull gave Dorian something akin to a wink with his one eye. “He’s getting way too used to handling things without me.”

The Chargers headed out onto the mountain path winding down from Skyhold. The roads were vastly different from when they made the agonizing march from Haven, when the path to the fortress was barely more than trampled snow under their feet. Now a real road lay before Skyhold with gravel laid down by the Inquisition's soldiers for traction and cutting a passage through the glistening snow. The improvement rarely failed to impress Dorian, but this time his mind was otherwise occupied.

Dorian lagged a few paces behind the Chargers on the road, put out over the derailment of his well laid plans. His luck, always in short supply, had unsurprisingly run out. At least Bull, who rode next to Dorian, didn't insist upon pressing a conversation. But eventually, as Skyhold disappeared behind them and the sun climbed up in the sky through the morning, Dorian felt the need to probe to try to discover what the Bull might know. 

"I hope that you have not gone to the trouble of coming to Redcliffe on my behalf," Dorian stated.

"And if I did?"

"Then I would say that your lieutenant has a looser tongue than I had anticipated, but considering his boss, I should not have expected discretion," Dorian replied tartly, but immediately wanted to bite his tongue over the statement, knowing he showed his own hand a bit too much.

"Do you need discretion?" Bull asked.

"Any good Altus always needs discretion," Dorian answered evasively. "I would have preferred that my errand remained private."

"Krem's just looking out for you," Bull glanced over at Dorian, his pale blue eye looking almost grey in the sunlight. "I asked him to."

An unexpected bite of hostility sank into Dorian. Leliana's knowledge of his affairs, Vivienne's thinly veiled accusations, and the stares of countless Templars were fresh in his mind. "As if I needed more people 'looking out' for me in Skyhold,” Dorian bit out swiftly. “You may have noticed that I do very well looking out for myself, I needn't the help."

Bull’s head twisted towards Dorian, his expression was gentle, almost fragile as he said, "I want to help you."

"Then you want for a useless endeavor," Dorian snapped immediately.

Bull didn’t reply, his single eye fixed ahead towards Skinner riding ahead of them, and Dorian convinced himself that he was content to remain in a sullen silence. But despite Dorian’s expectations, Bull didn’t urge his horse to catch up with the rest of the Chargers and stayed at Dorian’s side, enduring the silence.

The journey to Redcliffe started out much differently than Dorian anticipated, he felt his dismay over Bull’s appearance keenly, but as the day wore on, his heart changed and he came to regret his hasty words much as he did after Bull gifted him with the new set of battlemage robes. He had to admit that it was some comfort to have Bull at his side, even if the mercenary didn’t know why Dorian was going to Redcliffe. And it helped to know that he could sink into Bull’s bed after he founded out about Alexius and Felix, as he was sure it wasn't good news in the slightest, and bury himself in Bull’s embrace afterwards.

Once Dorian helped the Chargers setup camp the first night on the road, Dorian took the opportunity to slip into Bull's tent. Bull was laying out his bedroll on the ground, kneeling prone until he noticed Dorian come in. From his position, Bull was slow to rise and obviously favoring his better leg after a long day of riding.

"I'm an ass," Dorian admitted, carefully moving towards Bull, giving him the opportunity to turn Dorian away. When Bull made no such move, Dorian hands planted on Bull's broad shoulders and stretched his body up, his spine curving with feline grace so his lips brushed Bull's ear. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Large hands rested on the small of Dorian's back and Bull let out a quiet chuckle, lips ghosting over Dorian’s. "I already have."

And Maker damn it all, Dorian was relieved to hear it.

For the entirety of the trip, they didn’t speak further on Bull’s sudden desire to go with his company on a quick job nor did they talk about how Dorian didn’t tell Bull that he was leaving. Instead, they fell into their usual easy banter and flirting, much to the apparent relief of the entire group. It wasn’t until they reached Redcliffe and Dorian and Bull took a room together at the Gull & Lantern did Bull decide to mention the druffalo in the room.

“Hope you don’t mind me tagging along,” Bull said to Dorian once the door to their room was closed behind of them and bags left slumped on the floor.

Dorian frowned as he started to fill the wash bin on the dresser with water, preparing to wash off the layer of dust from the road. A quick and casual surge of magic warmed the tepid water until steam curled from its mirrored surface. 

“You mean sharing a room?”

“I mean coming down to Redcliffe with you.”

“It’s your mercenary company, Bull,” Dorian forced a light tone, his heart beat beginning to quicken at the topic. “You have every right to accompany them on a job.”

The bedframe squeaked worryingly as Bull sank down onto the edge of the mattress. The gaze from his single eye weighed heavy upon Dorian’s back. “I want to help you with your errand,” he stated.

Forcing a light and amused laugh, Dorian merely shook his head with an indifference he didn’t feel and he was sure Bull was not convinced of. “There is nothing to help with, this is just a quick meeting with a retainer and nothing more,” he lied with glibness.

“Dorian—”

“You’ll be of better use to Krem tomorrow,” Dorian interrupted, still going through the motions of washing. Dipping the flannel cloth into the water, wringing it out, and making delicate strokes across his exposed skin, a repetitive movement that kept Dorian occupied and steady. "You'll have more fun killing bandits and such instead of boring meetings with vints.”

Dorian turned towards the Bull in time to catch the sight of his jaw tightening, tendons flexing under scarred grey skin.

Letting out a little sigh and setting aside his washing, Dorian crossed the room and stood between Bull’s legs, his hands resting the junction of Bull’s neck and shoulders. The muscles were tense under his palms and without thinking Dorian started kneading them with his fingertips.

“I’ll tell you more of it tomorrow once I return from my errand,” Dorian promised and was surprised to find that he actually meant it. “This is a personal matter that I must attend to on my own, but I promise to be more forthcoming once the business is done with.”

The tightness across Bull’s features didn’t lessen as he said nearly accusingly, “You took the boss to see your father.”

There was an odd sense of pettiness to the statement, a bit of petulance that was completely uncommon for Bull. From just his tone, Dorian would have thought that he had told Bull that he was going fight a dragon without him instead of denying him to the dubious privilege of accompanying Dorian on his errand. The very fact that he even brought up the incident with his father and the Inquisitor left Dorian flabbergasted.

“And look at what that’s gotten me,” Dorian replied swiftly and unkindly, the pain and disillusionment of the whole situation still nagging at him.

Dorian didn’t elaborate on what he meant. There was too much to unfold just in that statement, the shock of seeing his father, the complete lack of resolution between them, exposing his vulnerabilities to the Inquisitor, providing the Inquisitor emotional leverage over him, and a hundred other little regrets that haunted Dorian. Bull didn’t ask for details, but his face softened and his hands landed on Dorian’s waist. 

“I’m not the boss,” Bull reminded him gently. “This isn’t like before.”

Dorian nearly flinched, leaving him to wonder exactly how much Bull knew of his entanglement with the Inquisitor. He was fairly certain that too many people knew of them sleeping together, but Dorian kept his cards close to his chest over the depth of his attachment to Lavellan. Dangerous curiosity stirred within him, but he didn’t dare inquire, too afraid of what the answer might be.

Closing his eyes, Dorian drew in a deep breath and conceded, “You say you want to help me. Then just be here when I return. Be here when I need you tomorrow and trust me when I say that I will need you then.”

Opening his eyes again, Dorian watched as Bull slowly nodded his head. “Yeah, ok, I can do that. I’ll there for you when you need me.”

That was more of a relief than Dorian liked to admit. “Thank you.”

Bull pulled Dorian in close, dragging him down for a kiss. “Anytime.”

-

Breakfast at the Gull & Lantern consisted of fried eggs, sausages, thick slices of toasted brown bread, and a hearty bowl of flavorless porridge slathered in too much syrup. The smell of food was thick in the air and its grease seemed to rest on Dorian’s tongue without even taking a single bite. Dorian managed to eat almost half his bowl of porridge, but Rocky happily took his leftovers while Krem watched from across the table with a disapproving gaze.

At every creak of the stairs, Dorian’s eyes were directed to the staircase, waiting for Bull to come down, but it was always another patron. He rose early that morning and snuck out of bed before the Bull woke up and started asking more questions. But he irrationally wanted to see Bull before he left to meet with Caius. The heavy weight of apprehension had yet to leave Dorian over the meeting and for some reason he thought that seeing Bull before he left might be able to ease some of it.

“I can spare a couple men to accompany you,” Krem offered for what must have been the fifth time. 

A note from Caius left at the inn’s front desk instructed Dorian to meet him just beyond the Crossroads and to an abandoned fort along the King’s Road. Not a promising start, Dorian silently admitted to himself.

“You need not worry, Cremisius, I can make my way on my own.”

Krem’s frown deepened. “I’ll have a couple guys go with you to the Crossroads.”

The tone dared Dorian to challenge Bull’s lieutenant. It was tempting to see a temper flare under Krem’s cool and calm exterior, Krem was rather lovely when he became animated, but Dorian did not risk it. He wouldn’t put it pass Krem to send someone to trail him.

“I’ll be glad to have the company,” Dorian answered sweetly. “I’ll be ready to depart soon.”

Dorian did not see Bull before he left. He very nearly went back up to the room where he left Bull sleeping, his body twisted towards the staircase, but Dorian thought better of it. Instead he followed the two Chargers assigned with escorting him to the Crossroads out the door to saddle up their horses.

As Dorian prepared his chestnut mare, Krem approached him and held out a short dagger. The dagger wasn’t anything special, but it was well made and cared for. Dorian recognized the small dragon design on the hilt, marking it as a weapon issued by the Imperium’s army.

“This isn’t yours to keep, Altus, I expect you to bring it back.”

“You know that I can kill a man with just a single thought,” Dorian scoffed, but he couldn’t help but feel touched at the gesture.

“Never know when your mana will run out,” Krem countered, still holding the weapon out to Dorian.

“And you call Bull overprotective,” Dorian breathed, taking the dagger and tucking it away in his robes. Its weight tugged down one of the buckles of Dorian’s outfit and was a solid and surprisingly comforting presence against his chest.

“Freckles and Longshot will take you down to the Crossroads,” Krem told him as Dorian rolled his eyes at the nicknames. “Wait there until the evening and I’ll have a couple guys come escort you back.”

“Yes, mother,” Dorian muttered, imitating the tone Krem often used on Bull when he fussed too much.

Krem snorted. “Get out of here, Altus, I’ll see you tonight.”

The two Chargers rode with Dorian down from the village to the Crossroads, chatting with each other and largely ignoring Dorian, though their sly and curious looks indicated they knew of his relationship with their Chief. The whole company probably did.

The ride was quick and easy. The very state of the Crossroads was a visual testament of the positive impact the Inquisition was having in the area. The droves of injured, cold, and hungry refugees in the area were taken care of and the violence and immediate turmoil was quelled. The main encampments of rogue Templars and the rebel mages were destroyed and only pockets of bandits remained, though the watchtowers that Cullen’s soldiers built helped to give the refugees and the Inquisition soldiers fair warning.

He parted ways with his escort, tipping them with a few coins that he shouldn’t spare, but appearances were important. Dorian didn’t dally in the Crossroads, lingering long enough to leave his horse with Corporal Vale and his people before venturing out onto the King’s Road. No one bothered Dorian on his short journey from the Crossroads to Fort Connor and the calm of the late morning was almost suffocating.

Dorian stepped through the old entryway of the ruined fort with caution and no small amount of dread. He remembered Varric telling him of rogue Templars once being camped in the fortress and the giant hunk of red lyrium that they found and destroyed. Even when Dorian was camping in the Hinterland hills on his own, hoping for Lavellan to help him and Felix, he avoided the fortress as he spied people moving in and out of it. The fact that Caius chose such a place to potentially meet the Inquisitor did not bode well for Dorian.

The outlying yard of the old fortress was unoccupied and remnants of recent camps littered the ground. Old piles of ash, little bones of animals scuffed with knife marks, and discarded used items told of several who took refuge within the crumbling walls. Dried blood, broken arrows, and dropped blades told of those who had less than honorable intentions.

As he walked towards the still standing main building of the fortress, Dorian unslung his staff from his back and held it tightly in his right hand, taking comfort in its well-worn grooves and familiar weight, and its perfectly wrapped grip made him think of Bull. 

In his mind, Dorian retraced the steps into the building, the stairs down into the dark, claustrophobic room and the harsh tingle that crawled over his skin from the little bits of red lyrium left behind. A couple of times, he and his companions stopped at the ruin to rest, but never to spend the night.

His steps echoed inside the hollow building, there was no way to mask the sound of the hard soles of his boots against the stone floor, bouncing freely in the mostly empty space. It wasn’t completely empty, abandoned furniture and chests left behind by the rogue Templars still occupied the room. And down at the bottom of the steps was Caius, waiting for Dorian with thinly veiled disappointment.

Caius Abrexis was everything Dorian remembered. His handsome face showed off traits perfected through generations of careful breeding, his beautifully broad shoulders were emphasized in sturdy and fashionable travel robes, and his bright green eyes danced in the torchlight. Caius's staff was resting carelessly on the ground with his travel pack and his posture was relaxed, though there was a little crease between his eyebrows, a sign that he was annoyed with Dorian.

“You came alone,” Caius started in lieu of a greeting.

“I am sorry to disappoint, Caius, but the Inquisitor is pulled in all sorts of directions, as you can image. It makes him rather fickle about keeping his appointments,” Dorian replied evenly, watching Caius’s every move and expression. 

The disappointment was real and his hands remained limp at his sides, not reaching for anything or readying a spell. Dorian remembered that Caius excelled in healing and defensive spells, relying heavily upon spirit magic. His hands and arms were smooth, lacking both the burns from channeling fire or ice barehanded and the spider web like scars from lightning spells gone awry. But Dorian reminded himself that even an apprentice could kill with a blade of ice or a sudden burst of fire.

“You will have to put up with my own sparkling company. Besides, this is a rather dreadful place to meet the Inquisitor himself. Could you not have thought of anywhere else more suitable?” Dorian prodded, hoping to gain some information.

“You get to sleep in warm beds at the inn at Redcliffe because you are part of the Inquisition, but a Tevinter mage with only his servants? The villagers are quite fed up with our kind about the debacle with Alexius and the rebel mages, thus this was the only place I thought suitable for us to meet,” Caius gestured towards the crumbling walls. "I also hoped not to be seen meeting with the Inquisitor, my father would be rather cross with me for such a stunt."

Dorian rolled his eyes, but held his breath a little at the fact that Caius would know anything about Dorian spending anytime in Redcliffe. It was true that he gained admission into the inn at the village because of his involvement with the Inquisition, but how Caius could know that was beyond him. Perhaps some information gleaned from villagers or information from Venatori about the Inquisitor's movements.

“I had hoped that you might have more sway over the Inquisitor, Dorian, and would be able to avoid such setbacks. I have not forgotten your loveliness after all this time and you were always rather good at getting what you want,” there was a tease of a flirt in Caius’s voice that Dorian didn’t trust at all.

“With the fate of the world at hand, the Inquisitor cannot be distracted by a pretty face, even one as perfect as mine.”

“And is that all you are, Dorian? I did wonder why the Inquisitor kept a Tevinter mage so close.” The words were said lightly as if Caius was commenting on the abysmal Fereldan weather.

Dorian didn’t flinch, didn’t react, his training was too good, too well-honed to be broken by simple insults. But Vivienne was right about him, Dorian was too soft for the games he played and while he may never wince at being stabbed, he did bleed.

“Come now, Caius, do finish your tantrum,” Dorian implored. “I was good enough to come at all to deliver the bad news when I could have left you here waiting for hours. I do not expect you to hold up your end of the agreement as I did not live up to mine, but I hope that there is something you can tell me of Felix and Alexius." 

Caius's face twitched.

"I am willing to negotiate a trade of sorts, as I am one of the Inquisitor’s companions and am much closer to him than any of the peasants you’ve been interviewing. The stories I could tell you are beyond anything you could hope for short of speaking to him directly. I hope you are willing to be reasonable,” Dorian lowered his voice flirtatiously and added, “and that you may remember our previous closeness.”

A smile spread on Caius’s face, soft with remembrance. “That was a very fond period of time for me, though you were not so lucky in the end nor were my guards. I heard the rumors of your imprisonment by your own parents and oh, Dorian, I ...” He closed his green eyes for several seconds before looking at Dorian with sympathy. “Perhaps there is something I could tell you.”

Sympathy was good, but Dorian didn’t want Caius’s condolences, only his information. “Anything would be better than nothing.”

“It was cruel of me to withhold the information from you for my own gain,” he said quietly with shame. “Considering our talks before, you must understand my interest in the Inquisitor and understand the sheer importance he will have in the future.”

Something began to uncoil within Dorian, but he didn’t let his guard down with Caius nor did he relinquish his grip on his staff. “These are unusual times and I was not surprised by your proposal. Actually, I'm a little shocked that I haven't received more.”

"You know how it is in Tevinter, Dorian," Caius gave a half shrug and the corner of his mouth curled sadly. "Anything that reeks of southern power is to be abhorred, even if it is the best hope we have for healing the breach."

"I am glad to see that you apparently haven't completely lost your good sense, unlike some of our countrymen."

Caius laughed, it was a soft and gentle sound that trailed off into the dark corners of the room. “I will tell you what I can about Felix and Alexius, all I ask in return is for you to give me your story, so that I may record it.”

A weight lifted from Dorian. “Thank you, Caius.”

The smile playing across Caius's lips became sharper. "I wouldn't be so hasty with your gratitude, my dear Dorian."

The sound of footsteps and grumbles from above made Dorian pivot on his heels, spinning towards steps leading up to the entrance of the crumbling fortress and held his staff in a defensive position, fire was ready at his fingertips. Dorian couldn’t see the faces of the newcomers, the height difference from the stairs and the sunlight at their backs meant he could only make out the outlines of people with the distinctive points of Tevinter helmets. 

In the group was an overly large man, forced to kneel with the menacing tips of blades pressing to his back. The shape of the Iron Bull’s horns was unmistakable against the light and Dorian’s mind instantly whispered to him how hard it must be on Bull’s knee and ankle to be made to stoop on the cold, stone floor.

Dorian's heart dropped as everything became a lot more complicated.


	8. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian receives his answers.

The Iron Bull always struck an impressive silhouette, easily identifiable even from a great distance. Normally, Dorian was heartened by the sight and knowing that the Iron Bull was near, but now a deep sense of dread filled him at the outline of those horns against the light streaming into Fort Connor. The fact that Bull obviously followed Dorian to the fortress shouldn't have come as a surprise, Dorian knew how stubborn Bull could be, but he still couldn't help but feel shocked.

The cynic entrenched within Dorian whispered that Bull was spying on him, probably on Leliana's orders. But a louder voice within Dorian, one that roared in his mind and was built upon the evidence of Bull's words and actions, told him that Bull came because he cared, because he was worried about Dorian. That swift moment of sweet realization was quickly doused with the reality of the terrible danger the Bull was in.

“You didn’t come alone!” Caius announced with false cheer. 

Caius took a step towards Dorian, looking all too pleased with himself and his own cleverness.

“Fortunately for me, I did not come alone either. Now, my lovely Dorian," Caius invoked an old endearment with appalling ease, "put down your staff. We wouldn’t want your oxman friend to get hurt, would we?”

Caius raised his hand and signaled to the group, who then heaved Bull to his feet and they shuffled down the stairs to the first landing, close enough for Dorian to clearly see them, but too far to help the Iron Bull. As they came closer, Dorian could see the distinct Venatori colors and design of robes and armor, and faces that were of Tevinter, but none Dorian recognized. And he saw Bull’s face with blood streaming down from a cut over his one eye and numerous nasty staff and sword blades prodding at his thick, grey skin, uncaring as blood oozed from each vicious jab.

The blood on Bull's face summoned a fierce and protective emotion that nearly overcame Dorian, making a strong current of static race over his fingers, aching to be released. That flare of magic made its way up his staff, sparking dangerously.

There was a nervous shift in Caius's eyes, though he managed to sound condescending and chiding as he implored, "Now, Dorian, do behave and put down your staff. For your friend's sake."

One of the Venatori planted her boot into Bull's back, forcing him to bend further down, his sharp teeth gnashed together and revealing a pink stain to them, probably from biting his tongue or cheek. Every instinct within Dorian cried for him to lash out, to let his temper burn. If anything happened to Bull, Dorian would raze the fort and its occupants to the ground in righteous fury. But such as it was, Bull was being held at sword point, the threat to his life was plain, and Dorian could do nothing but comply with Caius's demand.

Bull’s eye widened and his mouth pressed disapprovingly as Dorian slowly put his staff on the ground and Caius swiftly kicked it away and out of reach.

Without the immediate threat of being gutted by Dorian’s staff, Caius stepped in far too close, his breath on the nape of Dorian’s neck and the heat of his body soaking through Dorian’s robes. There was a time when that exact same feeling sent shivers of pleasure through Dorian and he used to moan wantonly just from Caius’s lips on his skin. But now he only shuddered in disgust at it and bile burned his throat as Caius playfully kissed Dorian’s temple.

A low and angry growl emanated from Bull.

"Look at that glare the oxman has! That growl!" Caius crowed with delight at Bull’s displeasure. "Just as savage as I've imagined. Does he even speak?"

“Only when he's in company worth speaking to,” Dorian replied tartly.

“He does look rather fierce, but do you see the way he stares at you? I think the great beast may actually fancy you, Dorian, not that I can blame him. I'd even say that he's jealous of our previous relationship.”

"More likely he's disgusted at the sight of another Venatori, I imagine he's getting bored of killing them all the time. Variety is the spice of life."

"I can see why the Inquisitor chose him as a bodyguard, he is quite impressive," Caius waxed on, his evident glee was unpalatable. "I think his horns would make quite a nice trophy for the Elder One, wouldn't you say?"

Dorian's throat constricted. _I'd slaughter you. Your death would be slow and painful. There would be nothing left of you to send back to Tevinter._ Unclenching his jaw, Dorian shot back, "I believe your master would be better served if you chose for him a nice book on Tevinter history, it might help him get over this whole past Tevinter glory thing he seems to be hung up on."

“As witty as always, aren't you? You know, I almost expected you to fight and let the oxman die,” Caius said with awe and curiosity. “I know he is the Inquisitor’s bodyguard, but you must like him a great deal to put yourself at such danger for his sake.”

“These days it’s easy to grow fond of someone who doesn’t enjoy blood rituals or follows crazy, blighted Magisters trying to end the world,” Dorian answered lightly. "How surprisingly difficult it is to find such a person. You turned out to be a rather large disappointment, Caius."

A hand rested on Dorian’s hip and fingertips dug in roughly through the leather and sturdy cotton of his robes.

“I was perfectly sincere when I sent you my first letter,” Caius murmured, his lips moving against the shell of Dorian’s ear. “All I wanted was to meet the Inquisitor and to satisfy my scholarly interest. I confess that I did not know what happened to Alexius or Felix, but I knew that was what you wanted most. I had hoped that our previous closeness would allow you to forgive me.”

Dorian ground his teeth, seething in anger. “Obviously you had a change of heart since then, yours was always an unreliable one. Perhaps my father showed some wisdom in sending his people to drag me from your bed.”

“I thought the Venatori as mere extremists at first and unworthy of anyone’s attention let alone mine, but the longer I spent in the south, I truly began to hear them and I came to understand their purpose. Dorian, don’t you realize what the Venatori and the Elder One can give us? They will bring Tevinter back to its proper place in the world and we will rule Thedas as we should. Remember our long talks about the Imperium and its history? Of our long fallen glory?”

“I remember someone being far too enthusiastic about it.”

The hand on Dorian’s hip tightened. “You’re brilliant, my friend, I know the work you did with Alexius, the heights you’ve reached. Think of the good you can do for the Venatori to help rebuild old Tevinter. You’d no longer be an outsider, Dorian, no longer the pariah you fancy yourself to be," Caius coaxed, echoes of old conversations between them weaving into his words. "Instead you’ll become one of Tevinter’s saviors, beloved and revered as you deserve.”

“I will do a lot of good in aiding the Inquisition in defeating Corypheus and helping to reform the Imperium,” Dorian ground out.

“We will bring about something better than bringing useless reform to Tevinter. We will usher in a glory that our country hasn’t seen in a thousand years. There will be no corruption and no falser Maker to follow because there will only be the Elder One to guide us. You can be a part of this, Dorian, and bring about something greater than yourself.”

The words rang with terrible familiarity in Dorian’s ears. He recalled Alexius repeating the same lines to him not too long ago as Dorian’s hopes for reconciliation with his former mentor fell away to horror over what he had joined. 

“I’m already part of something greater than myself and your Elder One. It’s this little thing called the Inquisition. You may have heard of it, considering that it stole away the Templars and crushed your so called god’s demon army.”

“You were always so self-righteous, Dorian,” Caius hissed, frustration bleeding through in his voice. "What has it brought you? Rejection from your family? Exile? A fruitless fight against a god? The Inquisitor who could not spare you a few moments to help you in this one little errand?”

“Have you seen the robes that the Venatori wear, Caius?" Dorian retorted blithely even as his heart thrummed wildly in his chest. "Completely shapeless, the colors are drab and the overall effect is absolutely dreadful, and you wonder why I haven’t begged to sign on yet.”

The grip on Dorian became bruising as Caius whispered to him, “The Venatori tortured Felix for helping you, they made his death long and slow, admiring the sluggish way his blighted blood ran. Alexius got a front row seat to the entire show, they still laugh when they tell me how he cried and begged for his blighted son’s useless life and how he welcomed their blade across his neck. The Venatori tossed their bodies into the lake outside the castle without a second thought before marching on Haven.”

Caius couldn’t be trusted, but his words sank deep into Dorian, cut through his heart and settled into his bones. The picture Caius painted was not an unreasonable one and from everything Dorian knew about the Venatori, Alexius and Felix’s fate could have been just that. Tortured, slaughtered, and cast away without consideration.

“You brought their fate upon them, their ruin and death. Had Felix not helped you, the Venatori would have kept him and Alexius, they would have been well taken care of and our master would have removed the Blight from Felix. But you forced Felix’s hand at treachery for your own gratification that you’re the ‘good vint.’" 

There was real fury in Bull's blue eye and Dorian had no doubt that Caius's whispered poison did not escape Bull's keen ears. Dorian was relieved that Bull remained silent, letting him take the lead with Caius, buying more time with his verbal sparring as his mind raced over what to do.

"Funny," Dorian snorted, "I do distinctly remember Felix being the one to ask me to help him, telling me that his father had gone mad and was hanging out with some rather poorly dressed extremists."

"How long did it take the Inquisitor to throw you away, my lovely Dorian?" Caius's anger was lashing out pettily. "How long did it take until he tired of you in his bed and moved onto that pretty Seeker?”

Dorian didn’t react, didn’t move a muscle and instead focused on the Iron Bull. Blood dripped down his face, his single blue eye was pure ice, and his jaw and limbs were tight, like a coiled spring waiting to be released. If anything surprised Dorian that day, it was Bull’s apparent capture. Bull wasn’t sloppy like that, but there he was, being held to keep Dorian obedient.

"We'll keep Pavus alive for now," Caius said to the other Venatori. "He may prove to be a useful lure to the Inquisitor, but we have no need for the bodyguard. I would like you to remove the oxman's horns before you slaughter him though. I think that our dear Dorian needs to see that there are consequences to his refusals."

There was a sense of ruthlessness to Caius that Dorian had never seen before, his words and actions were beyond comprehension. Dorian had thought the same way about Alexius as his mentor spiraled into the madness that Venatori pulled him into. 

It was obvious that Caius was done playing and Dorian knew that he needed to make his move now. Dorian couldn’t help but imagine how easy it would be to strike down the whole group. To tear down the ruin on all of their heads with fire, ice, and lightning, but with Bull there, Dorian was helpless. Bull was too close to the group of Venatori, any area spell Dorian had up his sleeve would strike Bull and probably maim or kill him. 

Except one spell.

Krem and Bull knew what each other was about to do with just a single look, but Dorian didn’t have that rapport with anyone. However, his hand curled up into a fist, a simple movement, but one that he often did before channeling magic through his hands instead of a staff. Bull noticed the gesture, he caught Dorian’s gaze and they stared at each other for long seconds as Dorian willed Bull to understand what he was going to do. Then the Bull closed his eye, his mouth set in a firm line, and his whole body became rigid, steeled against what was to come.

Almost at once, Dorian raised a barrier over Bull and cast Horror upon the group, his chest tightening knowing that the barrier did not protect Bull from the spell. However, Bull reacted just as Dorian had hoped. While the Venatori instinctively fled in terror, the Iron Bull was a highly trained warrior and in his fear, his instinct was to crush the throat of whoever was closest to him. Once the first Venatori was dead, Bull attacked the next as Dorian froze the fleeing cultists with ice spells. Those that were freed from their panic found that their legs were encased in ice and in the path of a charging Qunari.

Despite the chaos, Caius had yet to release Dorian, but Dorian didn't hesitate to lay a fire mine at Caius’s feet. The whoosh of Caius’s spirit magic almost instantly dissolved his trap and caused Caius stumble away from Dorian as if suddenly realizing what was happening. His eyes wild at the outbreak of Bull's terrified rage and his face pale at the sight of the broken bodies of his comrades littering the old stone floor. Dorian stood witness as Caius's earlier bravado fell away at the sight of his first real fight. Thankfully for Dorian, he was well seasoned and knew to spring to action.

Dorian's mana was temporarily too exhausted for a proper spell, so he reached into his robe for the bottle of lyrium that he had hidden, but instead his fingertips brushed against the hilt of Krem's dagger. His fingers wrapped around the leather grip and with quickness worthy of a rogue, Dorian drew the dagger and sank it deep into Caius's chest, shifting his weight into the action. Dorian could count on one hand the amount of people he had killed in such a close and intimate manner, and it was never a moment that he particularly relished. As blood poured from the wound and Caius’s eyes went wide, frozen somewhere between shock and agony, Dorian realized it was the first time he had ever killed anyone he knew in such a way.

Magic and the long reach of his staff blade allowed Dorian at least the illusion of distance. With a short blade in hand, Dorian could hear and feel the wet gurgle of Caius's breath, choking on his own blood, and its copper tang heavy in Dorian's nostrils. 

Unexpectedly, Dorian's heart twisted in pity at the sight of Caius at the other end of the dagger. He was once a man whose company and wit Dorian enjoyed and Dorian knew that fundamentally Caius was a scholar, not a fighter. He was not a powerful mage, he enjoyed books over the outdoors, and was, at least when Dorian really knew him, a gentle soul.

Caius was another wasted life, readily thrown away by the Venatori just like Alexius and Felix. He was another victim of having his greatest desires and wishes perverted by the false promises of his Elder One, twisting him into something horrible and unrecognizable. Caius was never meant to become like that, as an academic he was supposed to be above such influences and committed to scholarship and the arts. Those thoughts stilled Dorian’s hand and the blade plugging the wound kept Caius from his end for just a little longer.

Then Dorian remembered Krem handing him the dagger, an unspoken promise to keep himself and others safe from danger. He recalled the lines of worry that creased Krem’s face, he must have known that Bull would follow Dorian and Krem was entrusting Dorian with Bull’s life.

 _“This isn’t yours to keep, Altus,”_ Krem had said, _“I expect you to bring it back.”_ Come back alive was what Krem really said.

With that, Dorian wretched the blade from Caius’s torso and took a step back as his former lover crumpled to the ground, sheathing the bloodied dagger without a second thought. Caius’s handsome face that Dorian had once so admired and had kissed so lovingly, was forever contorted in the ugly expression of death.

But Dorian did not dwell over Caius’s body, instead he carefully approached Bull’s huddled form at the bottom of the stairs, crouched amongst the broken bodies of the Venatori littered on the ground. Bull was hunched on his knees and curled protectively upon himself, his face was cradled in his large hands, and all Dorian could hear were his deep, labored breaths. Dorian dispelled the Horror spell, but the damage was already done and Bull was struggling to come down from the terror that had so wholly consumed him.

“Bull,” Dorian said gently, slowly walking towards Bull like he would with a frightened animal. “Bull.”

Bull lifted his head, his entire body trembling. “Dorian … Dorian, _please_ ,” he reached his shaking hand out to Dorian.

Dorian took the last few steps to Bull in haste, falling to his knees and gathered Bull into his arms, letting the other man’s head fall upon his shoulder, careful not to get hit by his wide horns. Bull shook against him and his long arms wrapped around Dorian, holding him tightly as he tried to shake off the last dregs of the spell. Bull's breath was ragged and hot against Dorian's neck, struggling for an even rhythm and each hitch in it pained Dorian even more than killing Caius did. 

There was a dull throb from the strain on Dorian's knees and the stench of blood made his stomach turn, but Dorian didn’t move from his spot as he held Bull. He stroked the back of Bull’s head, pressed his lips to his overheated brow, and hummed an old Tevinter lullaby that his nanny used to sing to him when he had nightmares. 

Dorian only wished that the Iron Bull could be so easily soothed.

-

“I royally screwed this up,” Bull said, his grey was face drawn and his eye was fixed on his untouched tankard of beer. “I meant to help you and to watch out for you, but instead I became a liability. Fucking amateur mistake. I kept trying to read Caius’s body language to see if he was getting ready to attack, looking around for traps that you might step in, or a rogue that might sneak up on you, but I didn’t even hear the damn vints behind of me.”

They returned to Redcliffe once Dorian was sure that Bull wasn’t seriously injured. He had downed his hidden lyrium potion and with his limited healing magic he searched for injuries and mended the shallow cuts that decorated Bull’s skin despite Bull’s protests that he was fine. It seemed that the Iron Bull’s pride was far more wounded than his body.

Dorian stared down at his untouched plate of boiled meat and potatoes, a favorite at the Gull & Lantern. Bull insisted that he eat something, but even as tapped out as his mana was and the sudden weakness in his body that overcame him, food was the last thing on Dorian’s mind. He slid the plate over to Bull, but not even the Bull seemed to have an appetite as he just stared at it with disinterest.

“Did you know about Caius before?”

Bull shifted in his seat, humming softly in thought. “Leliana told me some time ago, didn't actually hear much about it for a while and I wasn't too worried about you doing anything stupid. Then all of sudden she let me know that she thought you were going to meet up with that guy alone, even though she told you not to go at all. She knew I’d want to know and since Krem told me you wanted to go to Redcliffe with the Chargers not long after she told me, I figured you were trying to meet with that guy. At least that's one thing I got that right.”

Dorian stilled. “Leliana thought you’d want to know?”

Bull’s wide shoulders rolled in a shrug. “She knows we’re sleeping together and that we spend a lot of time together, so it makes sense. She probably knew I'd keep an eye on you, make sure you stayed safe, or you know, try to. Whole lot of fucking good that did.”

“How did she even know that much about us?” Dorian asked, the question sounding stupid as he said it.

“What doesn’t Leliana know?”

“Fair point,” Dorian replied faintly. He thought about Lavellan coming to him to ask about his amulet, the information that Leliana saw fit to share with the Inquisitor because she knew of Lavellan’s intentions towards Dorian. Now she determined that it was important to share such information with the Bull and Dorian was almost lightheaded from the thought of it.

"I fucked this up. I should’ve been more attentive and should’ve known that you could handle yourself. You even told me not to come and without me there you could’ve fried all of them in an instant,” Bull’s shoulders fell, berating himself again as he shook his head. 

"I'm not angry at you, Bull. Your intentions were rather admirable and neither of us was killed." Dorian's reassurances fell weakly, the whole experience having wrung him out and he didn't even have the strength to comfort Bull.

Bull snorted with disgust. “I'm better than that, we both know it. I just ..." he trailed off, his eye searching Dorian's face. "I was worried about you."

"I told you that you needn't be."

"That doesn't mean I won't stop worrying. I care about you, Dorian."

There was real weight to the way Bull said those words and it nearly knocked the air out of Dorian's lungs. Dorian couldn't deny the humbled feeling that rose within him from knowing that Bull, a good man on par with Felix, cared for him and risked his life because he wanted to help.

"I rather wished that you had listened to me," Dorian's voice became tight. "I have so few friends these days that I can hardly afford to have them in such danger." He swallowed slowly, his throat dry and his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. "If anything had happened to you ..."

Dorian's throat completely closed off, whatever words he had to offer Bull were sealed away, but the softness of Bull's face conveyed that he understood.

"Did that chatty asshole vint even know what happened to your friends?”

Leaning back in his seat, Dorian looked out the window. The only view he had was of the village, people strolling about on their afternoon errands, trying hard to carry on while the world outside of their walls turned in chaos. Beyond the shops and crowds of people were the docks, the water that slapped against the walkways and boats, its fresh, clean scent was milder than its salt filled counterpart on the shores of the Storm Coast. Somewhere under that mirror surface of murky blues and greens were Felix and Alexius’s remains, Dorian could feel it.

“They were dumped into the lake,” Dorian answered quietly, his face still turned away from the Bull.

They sat in silence for several long minutes until a loud sigh from Bull filled Dorian’s ears and he nearly startled as Bull’s hand enclosed over his wrist, rough fingers caressing smooth and sensitive skin.

“Come on, I’ve got an idea,” Bull urged and Dorian had no will to resist him.

That was how he and Bull ended up in a little row boat in the middle of the lake. Bull rented one from a merchant and rowed the thing out to the center of the gently swaying waters, not once asking Dorian to help row or do anything beyond sit on the damp bench. In Dorian’s hands was a bundle of white and yellow wildflowers that Bull purchased from one of the stalls along the docks.

“We don’t know where they are exactly, but that doesn’t mean we can’t honor them,” Bull told Dorian softly when he pressed the bouquet of flowers into his hands.

For once Dorian was not occupied with the agony of seasickness and he clutched onto the flowers as Bull stopped rowing. The boat drifted with the movement of the lake and Dorian tossed the flowers over the side of the boat in lieu of laying them on a proper grave. The blooms and stems floated along the surface before the lapping waves of the lake claimed the offering.

Under his breath, Dorian murmured a prayer in Tevene, an old ritual he remembered from Livia Alexius, a devout, kindly woman and the motherly anchor in Dorian’s much troubled youth. In the span of just a couple of years, an entire family was wiped out and there was no one to mourn them other than a pariah who slept with a Qunari.

Taking out the old spell book that Alexius gifted to him, the one that always sat faithfully at his hip, Dorian took out a couple of letters that were nestled in between the pages. One was from Alexius, the last letter he wrote to Dorian, urging Dorian to meet with him and stirred the hope of reconciliation within him. While Alexius offered to put the past behind them, he also wanted Dorian to join the Venatori and to help him develop his time magic. The other letter was the last one Felix wrote to Dorian, begging for him to come to Redcliffe and aid him in stopping his father, fear and worry evident in his hastily written words.

Neither letter was one that Dorian wanted to remember his mentor or best friend by. A small burst of flame consumed the papers in Dorian’s hand, eating away at the thick parchment and reducing them to ash. He held out his palm and the bits of remaining paper and cooling ash were caught in the breeze, blowing out into the lake. It was a sad substitute in place of the dignity of a cremation and funeral, but it was all he could offer.

“Feel any better?”

There was such a look of openness upon Bull’s face and his were emotions plainly on display for Dorian to witness on that little boat. Concern was creased into little lines on his grey face as his large hands gripped the oars.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this, because I do, but no, not really,” Dorian confessed, watching the ash float off in the wind.

“Want to go back to the tavern, get shitfaced, and then let me hold you for the rest of the night?”

Something between a laugh and sob escaped from Dorian as he nodded. “Please.”

Dorian's memory of the rest of the day was hazy at best, fragmented into strong sensations that he later recalled rather than coherent memories. He did remember the bitter taste of Fereldan beer across his tongue, the ugly heave of his chest as he sobbed into Bull's grey shoulder, and the strong and unyielding bind of Bull's arms as he held him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally only supposed to be around six chapters ... But the next one is the last one, I swear!


	9. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull needs some reassurances and Dorian thinks he understands.

Dorian's eyes reluctantly fluttered open at an unforgivingly early hour. His eyelids were gritty and crusty after a fretful night of sleep and his head pounded in time with his heartbeat, the rise and fall of pain encompassed Dorian's being. But pressed along the Iron Bull's side, head cradled upon a large, grey shoulder, Dorian couldn't deny that he was comfortably warm and it wasn't just his aching body that told him not to move.

The absence of the Iron Bull's thundering snores and the gentle scrape of calloused fingertips at his temple told Dorian that the mercenary was already awake.

"Morning," Bull rasped, not long after Dorian first opened his eyes.

Dorian let out something akin to a reply, but his parched and stale mouth made his tongue feel thick and only a half gurgled word came out.

"Need some water?"

With his mouth dry and tasting of old and sour beer, water sounded divine. But Dorian threw his arm over Bull's chest and pressed his face into to scarred skin, managing to mumble, "Stay."

"Don't worry, I'm prepared, big guy." 

There was a minimal shift in Bull's body as his long arm reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a cup that was filled and waiting to be drunk from. The cup was offered temptingly to Dorian, who managed to curl his body upward just long enough to bring his lips to the rim and to swallow down the tepid, but refreshing, liquid. Once the cup was drained, Dorian slumped back down against the Iron Bull, his body melting into the warmth waiting for him.

"How are you feeling?"

Everything hurt. Nausea rolled around in Dorian's stomach, the faint morning light managed to bring pain to his half open eyes, the headache that greeted him once he woke had yet to relent, and there was a persistent and hollow ache in his chest. There should have been a healthy dose of guilt along with Dorian's physical miseries from Bull being brought into the whole mess and having the mercenary stand witness to Dorian's breakdown, but he honestly didn't have the energy for it. That was a pain that he would unfold later.

"I'll live," Dorian conceded weakly. "This is not my worst hangover."

"That's not what I was asking about."

"I know." A long sigh escaped from Dorian, his entire body feeling deflated as the air left his lungs.

The mussed up hair on Dorian's forehead was carefully pushed away and soft words urged, "I'm here to listen, Dorian."

Another sigh deflated Dorian further. "They're dead. I already knew that."

"Doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt like fuck."

"Eloquently put," Dorian managed a watery chuckle, his eyes smarting. "Tevinter could have used more mages like Felix, putting others before himself, and Alexius was once a man whom I compared all others to. The entire family welcomed me into their home, treated me as one of their own, showed me what a family could be, and now they're all dead."

A kiss pressed into his hair, a quiet acknowledgment of Dorian's grief. 

"Sometimes I wonder what if the Inquisitor helped me in Redcliffe? Would Alexius and Felix be alive right now?" Dorian whispered before shaking his head against Bull's shoulder. "The Blight surely would have caught up with Felix sooner than later, but what about Alexius? What would have happened to him?"

"Probably nothing good if the Inquisition took him alive," Bull supplied unhelpfully, but Dorian knew he was right. They both watched as the Templar knight-captain was spared for poisoning his Order, turning them into monsters, and Erimond, no saint himself, was executed without a second thought.

"If Caius was telling the truth," Dorian mused, picking a fresh wounds, "if Alexius was forced to watch as the Venatori tortured Felix, then anything the Inquisition would have done to him would've been better in the end. With his wife dead, Felix was all that Alexius had, all that he cared about."

"Caius was dick," Bull insisted, his voice strong and confident. "He got a little taste of power and was pissed when you wouldn't bow to it. I think he would've said anything to get to you when you refused him and he knew that saying anything about Alexius and Felix would hurt you the most."

"Felix at the very least could have had the dignity of a comfortable death," Dorian lamented, not feeling as confident as Bull about Caius. "He could have gone home or he could have stayed with the Inquisition and I would have cared for him."

The arms around Dorian tightened, pressing him closer to Bull's torso.

Tucking his face into Bull's chest, Dorian choked out, "It's because we're vints and mages. We're unworthy of being believed and our lives are unworthy of anyone's time or consideration. Time was being ripped apart in Redcliffe, the castle occupied by a foreign agent, and the Inquisition turned its back on it all because it was _vints_ who were asking for help."

Bull didn't utter a word of protest or defense and it nearly shattered Dorian to know that he was right. His friends died such ugly deaths because they were mages from Tevinter, because they could not be trusted even as time was unraveling before their eyes. That knowledge weighed him down and drew out his grief, leaving him raw and worn. He thought that he might not have tears left after the previous night, but Dorian found that he had more to spare.

At least Bull was good enough to keep holding him.

Not a single Charger commented on Dorian’s sad state when he finally met them downstairs for breakfast. No one breathed a word about the dark circles under his eyes, the paleness of his complexion, the unkempt state of his clothes, or the way he picked at his food. For that, Dorian was unbelievably grateful. For as much as the crew of mercenaries enjoyed giving Dorian and each other a hard time, they had a considerable amount of tact.

The Iron Bull sat on one side of Dorian, keeping his cup of black tea filled and making sure he took at least a couple of bites from his dry toast. His bulk, in combination with a corner table, seemed to shield Dorian from any prying eyes as Dorian leaned against him, feeling like he needed the Bull just to keep upright in his seat.

"Was there anything else you needed to do here? We can hold off on leaving for another day or two," Krem offered kindly from his seat across from Dorian, his voice low as if not to startle him. The Chargers easily rooted out the bandits the day before, finishing the job quicker than anticipated by Cullen, and without any other jobs assigned to them, they were all ready to head back to Skyhold.

"If I ever come back to Redcliffe or the Hinterlands, it will be too soon," Dorian murmured into his over steeped black tea, ready to leave the place behind for good. He could have never guessed that such a small and backwater village would become the site of so many significant events of his life. Dorian was rather sick of it.

"Alright," Krem nodded, his eyes flicking up over to Dorian's side, undoubtedly catching Bull's eye for approval. "Then we'll head out after breakfast."

"I'll go settle up with the innkeeper," Bull said, his hand pressing against Dorian's back gently, steadying him before getting up.

Dorian let his gaze fall to his mostly untouched toast, feeling the weight of Krem's eyes upon him. Then, remembering himself, Dorian reached into his robes and withdrew Krem's dagger. Placing the weapon on the table, Dorian slid it towards his countryman, saying, "Thank you for lending this to me."

Krem's swallow was nearly audible. Bull had the good sense to clean the blade earlier, but the expression on Krem's face told Dorian that he knew it was used.

"You knew he'd follow me," Dorian accused mildly.

"Of course," Krem replied with a half chuckle, his hand grasping his blade and tucking it into his belt. "The big idiot would've done the same for any of us."

And that really explained the whole of it.

The impact of Krem's words felt like a kick to the chest. There was no malice behind them, no hidden agenda from Krem, it was just a casual statement about how the Iron Bull was, a good man who cared about his friends. Bull would have recklessly followed any of his friends into danger. 

"He is a good man like that," Dorian acknowledged faintly as something within him withered up.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Dorian dipped into his memory and tortured himself by recalling meeting with Lavellan at Skyhold after his failed meeting with his father. He could remember the gentle weight of Lavellan's hands on his face, the touch of his lips to Dorian's, and his voice strong and piercing, striking Dorian straight in the heart. 

_"I don't think less of you. More, if possible."_

_"The things you say."_

_"I mean it."_

Dorian had twisted those words, took them to mean more than what was really offered. He held onto those words tightly, deliberately misunderstood Mahanon's flattery and admiration, and was surprised when he fell hard at Mahanon's dismissal.

With Mahanon, Dorian allowed himself forget certain truths and possessed the audacity to mope over it, to grieve for a relationship that never existed. He let himself forget that he was a beautiful man, the product of generations of careful breeding, and little more. 

He knew that he was doing the same thing with the Iron Bull. Consistent sex and kind consideration did not make Bull his boyfriend, it didn’t give Dorian anymore of a claim on him than Krem or any of the Charges did.

A heavy hand rested on Dorian's shoulder, stalling his spiraling thoughts, as Bull stepped behind of him, a small smile on his face as he looked down at Dorian sitting there. "Eat a couple more bites of your breakfast and then let's get out of here."

"Never to return, I hope," Dorian answered with a lopsided smirk.

"We'll certainly try, big guy."

With his head heavy from a pounding headache and dehydration, Dorian barely managed to put his things together and humiliatingly, Bull had to help him get up on his horse. The fact that Bull was kind about it, didn't mention that Dorian was hungover, was both a blessing and an embarrassment. Stitches was good enough to pass along an elfroot potion and an extra waterskin, telling Dorian to sip on it all day, and that was the extent of any comments on his condition.

The journey back to Skyhold was blissfully uneventful and Dorian only had to endure the silent and pitying looks occasionally thrown at him by the Chargers. The Bull also seemed to be in a state of pitying Dorian. His lips were often caught between his teeth, his single blue eye staring worryingly in Dorian's direction, and his hands were always nearby, just hovering over Dorian's skin, painfully careful in their touch as if Dorian might break. The Bull also possessed a certain silence about him that he didn’t normally carry, but Dorian was too numb, too out of it, to call Bull out on it.

Skyhold was a welcome sight as they finally approached it. The trip to and from Redcliffe seemed unbearably long and Dorian longed for his own bed, his books, and something that resembled normalcy. 

As they rode through the gates, Bull turned to Dorian, leaning in towards the gap between their horses and his voice was soft, but insistent, as he started, "Dorian, can we—"

One of Cullen's assistants made a beeline to their group. “Iron Bull,” she addressed him sharply, "Commander Cullen wants to see you in his office for a full report on the situation with the bandits near Redcliffe."

Bull startled in his saddle, his eye blinking in confusion. "My lieutenant can—"

"Are you denying the Commander a meeting?" the assistant cut him off swiftly.

"What? No—"

"Then he'll see you in ten. The Commander is a very busy man."

Dorian let out a small chuckle and took that as his cue to slip away. Swinging off of his mount and handing over the reins to one of the stable hands, Dorian grabbed his bag and headed up towards his room. 

All around him was evidence that life in Skyhold continued on while he was away as the world still needed saving. It was barely past the noon hour and Dorian knew that he should head straight to the library after dropping off his bag, start in on his promised work on figuring out who Corypheus really was, but he was sure it could wait. The small sanctuary of his room summoned him and Dorian was fine with being selfish for another day or so.

"Dorian!"

Dorian stopped in the hall at the sound of his name, painfully close to his room, his eyes closing briefly as he took in a deep breath. That voice still got him, still made his heart catch, but it felt like a faint echo of how it was before. Then fixing a smile on his face, not entire forced, Dorian said, "Inquisitor, always a pleasure."

There was concern etched on Lavellan's handsome Dalish features with a small frown creasing his lips. "I was worried about you, Cullen said you had gone to Redcliffe with the Chargers to deal with a personal matter."

"I did not actually require the Chargers," Dorian clarified, "they were merely a convenient escort as they were headed in that direction. It was only a small matter that was quickly resolved."

The Inquisitor shifted and his frown deepened. "I just remember how things went when we went to Redcliffe and met your father. Are you alright?"

"I'm quite well and I assure you that there were no surprise family reunions this time. I was just wrapping up some personal affairs with a former acquaintance of mine," Dorian answered vaguely and somewhat truthfully. "As you can see, I am unharmed and I was not kidnapped by family."

Relief eased the festering concern that the Inquisitor displayed and he nodded in satisfaction, "I'm glad for it. I'll let you go, I'm sure you want to unpack and rest."

Dorian could have left, but his feet were rooted to the ancient stonework underneath of him and his eyes remained on the Inquisitor. For all the heartache Dorian experienced over that man, for all the self-doubt he felt after being dismissed so casually, Dorian couldn't bring himself to remain angry and distant. It was hard considering not just Lavellan's magnetic charm and usual kindness, but also the burden he carried. The fate of the world rested on that Dalish elf, someone who not too long ago enjoyed hunting in the woods and was now thrown head first into a war against an original darkspawn and the complex intricacies of human politics. 

With so much to bear, Dorian could not hold a grudge against the Inquisitor.

"Inquisitor," Dorian started, the title feeling stunted in his mouth. "Mahanon," he started again and the smile softened the Inquisitor's face. "I wish you luck in your pursuit of Cassandra."

"Thanks, Dorian," that smile spread further across the Inquisitor’s mouth, his eyes bright and hopeful in the afternoon sunlight. "I have a feeling that I will need all the luck I can get."

"There is no doubt about that," a real smirk managed to tug at Dorian's lips. "You could have chosen someone less severe, but the heart wants what the heart wants, I suppose."

The Inquisitor's expression became rueful as he lightly mourned, "My life is currently determined to be difficult."

Dorian let out a sharp bark of a laugh, the sound slicing through his eardrums. "That is an understatement. Now, if you'll excuse me," Dorian gestured towards his room.

"Of course. I'll see you once you're rested."

Once the Inquisitor was out of sight, Dorian disappeared into the safety of his room. After closing the door behind him, he let his bag drop from his hand and land on the floor with an undignified thump. The room was as familiar was always, unchanged in his absence with one exception. The blanket that covered the mirror had slid off at some point, and its reflection was clear and unflinching.

The past few days were visible on Dorian. His expression was worn and his eyes dulled from vibrant silver to a murky grey. The usual perfect gloss of his appearance was ruffled, a lack of makeup and halfheartedly done hair made Dorian look rather common. It was little wonder that the Inquisitor expressed such concern over him.

He stared at the reflection, scowling at the man, who was weak and vulnerable, staring back at him.

A sudden burst of energy overcame Dorian and before he knew it, his hands seized the ancient wooden frame and he found himself dragging the thing out the door. Thankfully there was no one out in the hall of residential wing at that moment, no one to witness Dorian's sudden madness as he removed the Inquisitor's gift from his room. He made it several paces out the door when he realized that he had no idea where he was taking the mirror.

An impulse to tip it over the battlements or down a flight of stairs passed through Dorian, but more rational thoughts overtook him and urged him just to leave it in the hallway. Taking a few hesitant steps away from the mirror, Dorian finally found it within himself to leave it behind as he fled back into his room, locking the door behind him.

The energy that had so quickly come to him left almost instantly, leaving Dorian feeling as exhausted and worn. The numbness that had consumed him on the journey back faded, making him realize how wrung out he was. Caius’s betrayal, the news of Alexius and Felix, killing Caius, and the sight of Bull huddled on the ground, it all caught up with Dorian.

His tired fingers managed to undo the belts of his robes and to strip his clothes off, leaving them rumpled on the floor. Falling into bed, cocooning himself in the layers of blankets, Dorian closed his eyes and wondered if anyone would notice if he didn’t leave his room or his bed for a week.

Sleep came to him less easily without Bull there, but the tiredness that occupied his soul managed to win him over. It was a deep sleep, pulling Dorian under and it might have carried him through to the next morning or even afternoon, if someone didn't come knocking at his door some hours later.

There was a gentle knock on the door, careful and considerate, a light rap that roused Dorian from his slumber and caused him to peel open his eyelids but nothing more. The doorknob tried to twist, the brass shaking just the slightest bit before the lock stopped it. Dorian raised his head from his pillow for a couple of heartbeats before sinking back down and closing his eyes again.

There was another shake of the doorknob, but this time accompanied by the slide of the lock coming undone. Dorian sat upright as the door slowly swung open, Bull's tall build appearing in the doorway, causally sliding his lock picks into his pocket.

"Do you mind?" Dorian snapped sleepily as he pulled a blanket around his body and Bull entered uninvited, closing the door firmly behind of him.

"I didn't see you in the tavern or library," Bull stated as if it explained everything. "By the way, I told the maids to take your mirror that you left in the hallway. They seemed to like it and I thought you wouldn't mind since you had it covered up before."

"Good," something unwound from within Dorian and his previous surly attitude lifted. "They'll make better use of it."

Bull hummed in agreement.

"Now, was there something on your mind?" He folded up his legs to provide more room on the bed. "Or did you come for something else?" Suggestion emptily painted Dorian's words and he let the blanket slip down his shoulders. "I never got to properly thank you for running to my defense."

Honestly, he didn’t feel up to it, but it was a familiar offer and avoided more difficult topics.

The foot of the mattress sank under the Bull's weight, but he made no move to touch Dorian or to take off his pants and harness. "Thank me for what? Almost getting us killed?" he snorted, not skirting around any issues.

"Perhaps not your finest moment," Dorian admitted, a touch relieved as he pulled up the blanket back over his shoulders, "but the thought was there at least."

There was another snort, coming out more derisive than the last.

"So, if not to claim your reward for your heroics," that earned Dorian an eye roll, "why are you here?"

Bull gave him a pained look and explained, "Some of the things you talked about back at Redcliffe got me thinking. You know that I supported the boss's decision to go to the Templars instead of the mages. Not that he was really asking me, but I approved of it despite all the shit going down." Bull's face was tight and his body shifted restlessly. "You were a vint and I didn't trust you."

Dorian was more surprised about Bull bringing it up more than anything else. The thought of Bull supporting the Templars had never really crossed Dorian's mind and while it stung unexpectedly, more out of the suddenness of the topic more than anything else, he wasn't shocked by the revelation nor was he particularly upset by it.

"You were a Qunari spy and a veteran of Seheron," Dorian pointed out dryly, trying to dismiss Bull’s apparent worries, "out of anyone in the entire Inquisition, you had the greatest reason to distrust me."

The lines on Bull's face only deepened and his lips pressed together firmly. 

"It's not as though I trusted you. Surely you remember our early conversations," Dorian shrugged, the blanket shifting over his body. "I was expecting a knife in my back at any moment."

Bull appeared unmoved and Dorian was put in the odd situation of trying to comfort Bull over something in the past that Dorian had no qualms over. It was not as if Dorian had turned to the Inquisitor’s Qunari bodyguard for help, he did not plead to the Qunari spy for help, nor did he ever expect Bull to understand the urgency to stop Alexius’s use of time magic. Bull had to know that and Dorian could sense that there was something under the surface, something more than just the face value of a Qunari who didn't trust a vint. 

"Had our positions been reversed," Dorian tried again, "had you asked the Inquisition for help because the Qunari decided to reenact the situation in Kirkwall over in Redcliffe, I would have begged the Inquisitor to go to the Templars."

"You were right though. I disregarded you because you were a vint asking for help."

"Bull—"

"I know how you feel about the boss," Bull swallowed, his throat bobbing. "However you might feel about me, I don't want it to be like that. I don’t want you to resent me later."

"That ... That had nothing to do with Redcliffe."

"I know how much you loved your friends," he left no room for arguments there.

"Redcliffe is not the whole of it, at least," Dorian amended and let out a long breath as he pulled the blanket flush against his skin. "I know that if the Inquisitor came to Redcliffe, things could have gone differently, terribly different. What if Lavellan was killed by Alexius or the Venatori? Or removed from time altogether? What if the rebel mages weren't enough to seal the breach? No matter my personal feelings, no matter what happened to Felix and Alexius, I don't take for granted that Lavellan is alive now and able to stop Corypheus, and that the Templars were able to help."

His voice thickened at that admission, old pain mixing with hard truths. It was therapeutic though, like a dam breaking through.

"The complication in the matter is that even in my grief, my anger, I still managed to see what a good person Lavellan is. I still managed to have feelings for him and he was sweet to me. I thought he was implying things and I just thought that maybe he felt, that he wanted … that I could have ..." Dorian's words caught, tangled within him and lodged in his heart. "Either way, he didn't want me in the end. I get angry knowing that I," _loved_ , "cared for the person who refused to help my friends."

None of the tightness eased from Bull's features. "I don't want you to ever feel that way about me."

"You may note that it is a rather different situation," Dorian's voice cracked slightly as he tried to lighten his tone. "You didn't kick me out after we first slept together."

"I don't plan to anytime soon." 

"And you are unbearably good to me. In and out of bed."

"It’s how you should be treated, always." Bull's hand carefully grasped Dorian's, raising it up to his rough lips and murmured against Dorian's knuckles, "I care about you, Dorian. I don't want you to doubt that."

The corner of Dorian's mouth curled up, his heart gently aching. "Ah, well, I am rather fond of you myself."

The fingers wrapped around Dorian's hand squeezed and Bull's face relaxed, soft in his single eye gaze.

"Well now, you interrupted my beauty sleep. Either get in,” Dorian patted the mattress next to him, “or get out."

Bull lifted his eyebrow. "It's a bit early for bed, by several hours."

Shedding his covering, Dorian felt more sincere as he beckoned, "I'm sure we can find ways to occupy ourselves until you're tired."

The severity that clouded the Bull seemed to lift and his smile was wicked and playful as he leaned in towards Dorian.

Dorian considered himself to be lucky. There would be no great romance as Dorian always secretly dreamed, no dramatic declarations of love, and no claims on anyone’s heart, but the Iron Bull was a good man. Bull cared about Dorian, enjoyed his company, and didn't seem to tire of him even after long weeks of sleeping together. Dorian might not get everything he wanted from the Bull, but it was enough, more than anyone ever offered Dorian before. 

At least now he better understood his arrangement with the Iron Bull.

-

Though perhaps Dorian didn't quite understand his arrangement with the Iron Bull.

Dorian's jaw dropped for a brief second before he snapped it shut. The Iron Bull stood in front of him, his red velvet uniform askew from frequent changing in and out of armor, the scratch from a Terror's claw peeking out from the high collar of his jacket, the blue silk sash was missing, and with his hand held out to Dorian. 

They were out in the gardens near the guest wing of the Winter Palace, out in the open where everyone could see them.

He was often focused on the Bull's hands, how they touched and stroked his skin, how they held him down, and how easily they could undo Dorian. But now he was focused on that hand in a completely different way. The hand held out to Dorian was perfect in its own way, with its rough grey skin, missing fingers, and calloused palms from years of handling weapons.

"I would ask you to dance in the ballroom, but the dance floor is covered in duchess blood."

There was a little smirk on Bull's face, but for once Dorian could see through the embellishment. There was an uncertain wobble to Bull's voice and the slightest of trembles to his fingers, and it left Bull vulnerable in a way that Dorian had never experienced.

"Our Inquisitor did make a mess of things," Dorian replied softly, his own hands remained limp at his sides.

Bull’s tongue darted out quickly to wet his lips. "But the garden's still real nice. So, dance with me?"

There was an impulse to demand if Bull knew what he was doing, what he would be signaling to everyone if they were seen together in such a way. Varric was just coming up from whatever secret party he was attending, Sera was splashing through the fountain, Blackwall was standing just on the other side of the garden windows, and Cole was up on a balcony, his pale eyes following Dorian. They would all see. They would ask questions about him and Bull.

"Everyone will see us," the statement fell stupidly off of Dorian’s tongue.

The tremble remained in Bull’s hand, but his voice was clear, "I want them to."

It was obvious that Bull wanted this and didn’t seem to care about anything it might imply. Or perhaps he was just prepared to answer the questions that would arise.

Placing his hand in Bull’s, Dorian replied, "Then I would be remiss to say no."

The smile on Bull’s lips became stronger, his blue eye lit up in the moonlight. The tremble instantly disappeared from Bull’s fingers and he pulled Dorian to him with strength, moving with the bard’s song. As usual, Bull’s arms were all muscle and warmth, and they fit around Dorian’s body perfectly as the two of them fell into a slow and gentle dance. The dance didn’t have the strict timing of a waltz, but nor was it an artless sway of bodies. Bull’s movements, while simple, were confident and well-rehearsed and the Bull happily demonstrated that he was surprisingly light on his feet.

"You practiced," Dorian observed pleasantly, relaxing into the embrace and sinking deeper into the moment.

"I got lessons. Told Josephine that I couldn’t trample your toes," Bull dipped Dorian shallowly. "I know how much you like your shoes."

"You know me so well."

"I also knew I couldn’t embarrass you in front of all of the Orlesians, though I hope you don't regret being seen dancing with an oxman later," Bull teased softly. An edge of nerves made its way through Bull's light tone, a hint of a deeper want and need that Dorian was all too familiar with. 

"Never. I want them to see. "

The arms around Dorian tightened and lips pressed along his temple as a Qunlat word was whispered, unknown to Dorian but said with such reverence that its meaning was not lost. Dorian knew he wasn’t in love with the Iron Bull, he hadn’t allowed himself to be, but now he was sure that he was very much in danger of it. And he was equally sure that he wouldn’t regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! Everyone is always really sweet and encouraging, I appreciate it! Until next time!


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